Collision of Two Worlds
by fiction over reality
Summary: AU magical. Post war. Slash fic. HPDM later on. Harry goes into a coma after the war. When he wakes up after a few years, he doesn't remember anything from his past.
1. The Psyche Ward

**Author's Note: **We've all, at one point or another; have tried to imagine ourselves living in another world, or in someone else's shoes. Deep down, we all know that that's just a fantasy. What would happen if you dismissed the real world and gave everything you had to dwell in that fantasy forever? Would it become reality and swallow you up inside it; or would you just go insane?

Summary: AU, magical. Drarry. After the war, Harry goes into a coma and when he wakes up, he has no memories of his past life. As chapters pass, pieces of his past life are triggered back into his conscious memory. It's going to be a slow story and mostly spent in people's thoughts and not on their actions.

**Disclaimer: **The plot is mine, dreamt up in the darkest hours of the night. I wish I could say the same for the characters; but sadly, Harry and Draco do not belong to me; and neither do the basics of the story. They belong to the gorgeous J.K. Rowling.

Warnings: This is a slash fic. There's going to be HarryXDraco in it. Read at your own risk.

**Chapter One**

**The Psyche Ward**

Life wasn't so bad here.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been here; he wasn't even sure where herewas. Sometimes, he could hear wings beating gently as birds flew close to and then further away from him. Sometimes, he could just barely hold on to the sound of waves rolling softly against the sand; the ghostly picture of a beach almost forming in his head. He felt peaceful then. With no sense of a physical body or his real surroundings, he felt free. Because that's all that this was: an illusion, some fantasy world that allowed him to escape reality. Deep down, he knew it. But why acknowledge that when pretending to be lost was so much easier?

When he was honest with himself, when he truly couldn't shut off all the more disturbing thoughts, then he could admit that maybe pretending wasn't always the easier option. It was especially hard to hold onto the illusions when the pain came. He would feel hands on his body and voices that called to him over and over again. Each touch burned a hole in his skin and each word pierced his head; ringing hollowly many times over, getting louder each time, until it shook him to his core. The illusion would completely dissipate then. He would be left in complete darkness, darkness so consuming and absolute that it almost terrified him enough to make him want to wake up from the fantasy. But he wasn't one to give up so easily. He would try to go deeper in his mind still, hide under the darkness, and lose the consciousness that was creeping up on him. Under a well of murky waters in his head, he would hide from the voices and recall the illusions back to him. It worked.

It usually worked.

If it didn't, if the voices were too deafening to ignore, or if the vigorous shaking made his teeth rattle, he would be dragged back into his body. Was it hisbody? It didn't feel as if it belonged to him. It didn't feel as if it belonged to anyone. It felt uninhabited. No, it was more than that. It felt completely deserted, unused. It felt weak, numb. But how could it still hurt so much if it was numb? Maybe it was all just a nightmare that would end any minute now. Or maybe he lived in two worlds, one filled with nightmares and one filled with dreams. He just wanted to hear the fluttering of the wings, the whoosh of the waves. Why were the nightmares getting longer and the dreams shorter? He would try to concentrate on the dreams, to make them more solid, to lose himself even more.

In those moments of honesty, the moments of total clarity, he knew that the nightmare wasn't actually a nightmare. He knew that it was the real world that he was hiding from. What did they want from him? Why couldn't they leave him be? Why were they getting more persistent in their efforts to wake him up? This was the important part. He had to wait for the wings. If he heard the birds, then it would all be okay. How could he hear it though, when they kept shaking him, kept calling to him? They had to stop. He had to hear the wings, followed by the waves. Couldn't they see that this was the important part?

He would wait them out. After all, they had lives, places to be, things to do. He didn't. His life now consisted of cloaking himself in the colourful shadows of the illusion, running away from the darkness and the voices of the nightmares. He didn't know how long it would take; he had no sense of time. He would wait for days, months, decades, and centuries still. He would feel hands holding his face; the touch burning right through his skin. If he had been able to figure out how to use his hands, he would have struck at the intruder, tore its hands away from him. The problem was that he wasn't even sure if he had hands. How did hands feel? How did they connect? How did you move them? It was all too exhausting. Thinking was exhausting. It was easier to simply wait for the hands on his face to coax his mouth open, pour in the cold liquid, and then leave him be. For a few moments, he would know that he had a mouth. And he'd notice the liquid going down his throat. For a few moments, he'd remember what swallowing a potion felt like. And then he'd feel smug, because he'd once more waited out the pain and could go back to his illusions undisturbed.

Then the moment would pass. He would no longer remember anything but the wings beating overhead. He would no longer hear anything but the repetitive sound of the waves. He wouldn't remember that he had a body or a face or a mouth, or what feelings felt like, or that he was lying somewhere with strangers feeding him unknown potions. He would only know the dream world, the world that mattered, real or not.

Sometimes, little things came and went. Little things that he knew mattered; but couldn't put his finger on exactly why they mattered. He'd see a flash of green light, associated with a foreign, heavy feeling. He couldn't name the feeling. He couldn't properly grasp it long enough to be able to search his foggy memories for a name. Why did it matter anyway? It was only a name. What was a name? He didn't remember. What didn't he remember? He didn't know. What didn't he know? He didn't know anything. It was a string of words that left him as soon as they came. After all, this was a world of pictures and sounds, not a world of words. It was a world that would be foreign and confusing to anyone else, but it was one that was comforting and familiar to him.

Occasionally, he'd see an image of someone smiling at him in his mind. It filled him with another sort of feeling altogether, a vast contrast from the heavy feeling before. He knew every crease of the face, the laugh lines, and the bright eyes. He knew every detail of the face; he just didn't know who it belonged to. He knew it was someone that mattered; but in this place, nothing mattered for very long.

Remembering things was painful. Not remembering them was easier; although it wasn't always his choice not to remember. Every now and then, he'd want to hold on to an image, or recall a memory. It was an impossible task. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how long he waited, they wouldn't come to him. This was something that his hard lessons of never-ending patience didn't help him with. So he wouldn't ask his foggy mind to recall. It was a simple solution to his problems after all. When he was on the edge of sleep but the voices of his nightmares pulled him towards consciousness; caught between heaven and hell; they'd prompt him to remember his name, hold on to his story. They wouldn't let him simply float in the illusions. That was when his simple solutions would become too simple for a more complicated problem.

For a while, he would push it all away. They were not real. This place was not real. He was not real. Then, he would see the image of the smiling face in his head, and another face looking at him expectantly next to it; and he'd want them to be real. He wanted to go search for these people, ask them for the meaning of the smile, the reason behind the expectation. Ask them what the feeling that filled him was; what it meant. Ask them to help him sort out this confusion. And if the smile and the expectation were going to be real, then he had to be real too. And if he was real, then he must have a name.

Shouldn't he have a name?

He couldn't remember. Not remembering would make him want to scream. For that to happen however, he would have to figure out how to use his vocal chords. He would have to remember where they were, how they connected, how they worked.

How what worked? He was so tired. He was always tired. It was wrong; it was all wrong, he knew that. He just didn't know what 'right' was supposed to be like anymore. If his options were the two worlds of dreams and nightmares, then of course he would choose the dream world. As long as he was here, he was safe. As long as he was away from there, he would be alright. He wasn't sure how he'd ended up here, or why he'd run away in the first place. This was now his home. This was all he knew. Deep down he knew he was only fooling himself. But it was easier, and he was too tired to take the harder option right now.

So he'd let the voices screech all they wanted; he'd let the hands throw him around. He'd submerge in the colourful shadows and listen to the familiar wings and waves that soothed his soul.

xXx

He wasn't sure if he was awake or still dreaming; the images had never been this vivid before. They played in front of him consequently; demanding his attention. At first, he'd payed it no mind. He'd believed that it would go away; like every other image. As if it had a mind of its own, after it had replayed itself for a while and was faced with no interest from him, it had decided to add more colour, more sound, more sensations. Now, he could do nothing but watch.

He was familiar with the first picture: it was that of the smiling person. He knew he'd seen it many times before, although he never could recall it after it had come and gone. Now, he was sure that it had ingrained itself in his mind forever. That was only the first picture though.

The smile would come and go in a flash, followed by the green light, followed by the foreign, heavy feeling.

He didn't know what it meant. He couldn't remember if it had been a part of his past, present, or even future. It might have been a nightmare. After all, half the time he was living a nightmare.

The images kept playing over and over in his head, like a broken record stuck on replay. A spark of light blinded him with its intensity in the darkness he'd wrapped around himself. Had he just thought of a broken record? What was that? A shock went through him. _Shock. _That was a feeling, wasn't it? Yes, he had felt the shock. He felt shocked, and excited, and scared.

He was feeling.

NO! He wanted to scream until his lungs tore out of his chest. He wasn't supposed to feel. He wasn't supposed to remember. He was supposed to hide. Hide from the pain; hide in the darkness. He tried to put out the light, tried to stop remembering. However, it proved to be impossible to stop the wheels of the train once they started to roll. The images kept playing in front of his eyes –he had eyes! The same illustration was pushing him yet again. It was pushing him to remember, to get out of this void, to feel again.

He wasn't sure what happened next. One moment, he was fighting it, trying to diminish the light; and then he saw the image of the other face giving him the expectant look, and in the next moment, he was fighting alongside the forces in his mind to get rid of the illusions and the absolute darkness that covered it all. Maybe it had been the smile –a woman, it had been a woman smiling– vanishing after the green light had shone that started it all, but it was the man's expectation of him to stop this nonsense and face his problems instead of living in denial that ended the lies. He was left full of despair and a prompting to go after the woman –Lily?– and make sure that she was okay, make sure that the man –James?– wasn't disappointed in him.

He knew that a green light couldn't hurt anyone; of course he knew that. Lily –Mum! She was his Mother. It had been the images of his Mother's smile that had prompted a pull out of the darkness and it had been his Father's stern expectation that had ended his last holds on the illusions. But why had she stopped smiling? He had to go find her. He had to make sure that she was fine. He couldn't stay here any longer.

He tried to find his way back into his body. He tried to swim against the current that was pushing him under the absolute darkness; the current that was trying to take his limited memories away once more. But now he had a purpose, a reason. He couldn't stay oblivious to it all, couldn't stay in the safe cocoon. Besides, now that he knew the illusions were hidden inside the darkness, essentially a part of it, instead of having fought off the terrifying darkness the way that he had thought was their purpose, he was distrustful of their reasoning for keeping him distracted from the real world. Had he really called the real world a nightmare and dismissed it so easily? He couldn't live in fear, in shadows. It still scared him to face it, for whatever reason, but it was better than that ruthless darkness that had existed in his mind and engulfed his memories and personality so completely. He could now see that the sacrifice of living in oblivion was too great. He didn't know how much longer he could have lived in dreams and inside the darkness before he would have lost himself completely. That was more terrifying of anything he could think of that had driven him from living in the real world and pushed him into trapping himself inside illusions.

He found his way back into his body piece by piece. Of course he found his body. How could he have ever forgotten that it was his? It wasn't uninhabited, or deserted, or unused. It was _his_. He tried to open his eyes, but even behind the protection of his closed eyelids, the soft light protruded quite painfully. He shut his eyes even tighter, even though the pull on his facial muscles was a foreign feeling, and tried to move his hand instead. Although his body didn't feel deserted anymore, it was still weak and shaky. He couldn't even muster enough energy to move a finger, let alone raise his hand or even arm.

His breathing quickened. Realizing that he was panicking, another feeling that he'd forgotten about, he smiled slowly. Although everything hurt horribly as though an electric shock was constantly travelling up and down his whole body, the sensation of feelingagain was amazing, and it at least let him knew that he wasn't paralysed, just weak from not moving for however long he'd been living inside that foul darkness. Yes, every feeling was foreign, but it was so in a delicious way. And now that he was out of the darkness, he could admit that that had been no dream but a nightmare. He wanted to explore everything anew, find himself afresh. His brain, rusty from not having to solve even the simplest problems for as long as he could remember, was eager to start racing with thoughts, but at the same time the flood was giving him a headache. Still irrationally unsure about not being paralysed from the neck down, he put all of his focus and concentration first and foremost on getting his fingers and toes to move.

Without his permission, his mind kept on racing, content to let a part of his mind deal with that task while the rest flowed and rushed to every corner of his mind, re-familiarizing him with every corner. All thoughts come to a sudden halt and for a moment he didn't care if he was after all paralysed. He remembered.

He remembered that his name was Harry Potter.

And that he was in the Psyche Ward.


	2. The Escape

**A/N: **Harry's awake now. There's still no Draco in this chapter, since my chapters are pretty short and the pace of the story is still relatively slow.

**Chapter Two**

**The Escape**

It took him a long time to slowly put aside his troubling thoughts and work on getting his muscles to cooperate. He tried to keep track of time but gave up after getting the sequence of numbers jumbled in his mind –was seven before or after eight?– and losing his place a few times. It was only when the nervous whispering in his head reminded him that the voices could come back at any moment that he finally found the courage to lift an eye lid. After all, he had no concept of time while in the darkness and couldn't for the life of him recall how long ago the last visit of the nightmare had been. He immediately had to shut his eye again however. The dim light of his room was the brightest of suns to his unused eye. He had drowned himself in the darkness for so long that it was a wonder he hadn't gone blind. After that thought, the pain didn't seem that unbearable. He was grateful for it, to be perfectly honest. It seemed as if his memories and sense of self had been the only casualties, regardless that they were more than enough of a price to be paid for being trapped in the darkness that he still couldn't remember why he had wrapped around himself.

He gritted his teeth and tried to convince his bruised eye to try opening up again. If it hadn't been for the fact that he'd rather crawl his way on sharp pins out of this place than wait here in this vulnerable position for the voices to find him, he would have just lay there, unmoving, patiently waiting for the ice over his body to melt when it deemed it to be the right time.

Or maybe he would have taken the easy way out and disappeared within the darkness once more. He shuddered inside his head at that thought. Never again was he going to let the darkness take him, whatever the temptation. The price was simply too high, the sacrifice too great.

But the fact remained that the voices were going to come back. They always did. And it wasn't the voices that he was afraid of, but of the hands and bodies that the voices belonged to, the pain that always followed suit, the potions that were given to him without his permission. If that wasn't motivation enough, he still felt impelled to find the woman and make sure she was okay. It was hard to think of her as his Mum, as something other than the smiling face of a woman that had haunted his visions lately, but he supposed that was only because his memories weren't coming back to him. Maybe when he remembered his life again, the connections would be made and he'd remember her too. Or maybe he'd been in this place his whole life. There was no way to tell. He remembered glimpses only. He knew certain facts, like his name and location, but not how he knew them. The connections simply were cut off by the swirling darkness that had swallowed his memories.

He bit his lip and pushed that disturbing idea out of his mind. So, naturally, his mind provided him with a more troubling matter to ponder on. What would the voices do if they found him awake? They'd been trying to wake him for as long as he could remember. Now he was awake. It was just lucky that he'd woken up alone, because he had no idea what they wanted from him. The only demands they had ever made was for him to hold onto who he was. They hadn't said why he should.

A part of him wanted to linger on here until they came back for another visit. He wanted to know who the voices belonged to. Did he know them? If yes, would he remember them? He was curious as to see what they wanted from him. He was grateful to them to a degree. They had after all pushed him to remember himself instead of surrendering to the darkness. Their prodding might have been what had brought on the swirl of images that had pushed him out of the darkness. But he couldn't afford to take that risk right now. And besides, their efforts to wake him up and make him remember had been useless as far as he could see. He couldn't remember his life. What was a name when there was only confusion behind its identity? A sigh of frustration escaped his chapped lips. He pushed his mind into taking things one step at a time. _Focus on getting your eyes used to the light first_, he told himself. _There will be plenty of time to worry about those things later._

This time, he opened both of his eyes at the same time while still trying to bribe his body parts to shake, wriggle, or even turn blue as long as it meant that they were doing something. He felt the heaviness that was pushing on his eyelids and sticking them down to his face give way and his eyes opened all the way. Only seeing contorted crystals within the light, he tried to squint through the blur. His eyes fluttered open and shut a few times and he had the strong urge to rub his hands against them before he could finally keep them open a few seconds at a time. It took him a while to get the distorted shapes into focus, but that wasn't important because he was beside himself with a tiny spark of joy that lit up in the pit of his stomach. The fact that he wasn't blind was enough satisfaction to bring a smile to his face and start a celebration. Although the expression still felt strange and out of place on his face, it made him hopeful that he could do this. He didn't feel trapped in the darkness anymore. He was going to get his life back, what ever it may be.

He was in a room with white walls. He squinted more, realizing that they were in fact pale blue. His eyes slowly drank in all the lines, colours and shades. His mind threw pictures and names at him every time his eyes wandered onto something new. They remembered what size was called relatively bigger than the other; what colours were the bright and happy ones that he could spend a few seconds marvelling at and which ones were the cold and neutral ones that he easily dismissed. It was like being born for the first time. He knew he already had these memories but they slipped away behind a foggy screen every time he thought he'd grasped the taste of chocolate, or the coldness of snow, or the smell of the potions he'd been fed. But he'd eventually remember them. He would. Just knowing that there was a possibility of a life for him outside of this place was enough to keep him going.

But then he located a window on his right and saw the darkness behind it. His heart raced and he felt his eyes widen in shock before he realized that that wasn't hisdarkness. His darkness was filled with a sense of detachment where he had no physical body. It was a place where he lost all sense of who he was and what was going on around him. That wasn't how this darkness was making him feel. He felt just the same as he had a few moments ago, only more scared. His mind confirmed that it was just night time, but he still wanted to inch away from the window and the darkness outside. He took a deep breath and continued inspecting the room he was in, determinedly tearing his eyes away from the window.

There were other gurneys in the room with him. Some were occupied. There were unconscious people laying there, some old and some young. They all had the same sallow, ill-looking skin that he could see he himself had. He saw dark clouds of spells hovering next to them, connected to them through thin, shimmering strands. The clouds pulsed as if they had a life of their own. They felt wrong to him, being the same colour as the darkness that had trapped him. He looked at his own sides, but couldn't find a similar cloud. He knew he had just broken his own cloud and felt a sense of pride from that. He made a promise to himself to break the other clouds as well. No one should have to go through what he had. It made him angry at whoever had trapped him.

He frowned. Something wasn't letting him keep hold of that anger. He dug a little deep into his mind as it was still somewhat unfamiliar ground, but the reason was right there, shining and true. No one had trapped him. He had trapped himself. That cloud was created because he'd created it. He'd wanted to lose himself, and the cloud had only done what he'd asked it to do. He glanced at the people around him once more. They were teenagers here, as well as old men, with nothing in common except the blissful expressions they wore. They wanted the cloud, and as long as they wanted it, there was nothing Harry could do to help them. Sadness welled inside of him. What could have pushed him, pushed them, into giving up their whole lives? This was surely worse than death. Death was simple, quick, it was merciful. This was torture.

But he could still remember the peace he'd felt while cloaked in the darkness, in the illusion that now he knew was part of that darkness. The most he could do now was for himself, not these people who believed were taking the better option, the easier option. Maybe for them it really was. Just because that wasn't true for him anymore gave him no right to judge other people and their choices. He remembered the hands that had shook him, bringing only pain. He didn't want to cause these people pain. If he hadn't had to be forced to wakefulness, he'd still be happily in the dream world. For a moment he felt wistful. The darkness, as scary as it was, had been simple. This was so complicated. There were so many choices to make.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and looked away from his companions. He saw the closed door on his left, his way out, and then his eyes were drawn to the source of the dim light in the room. It was emanating from several lit torches on the walls around him. As soon as his eyes found them, he had to avert his gaze. They were far too painful to look at. Instead, he drew his eyes away and to the shadows dancing on the wall in the empty space between two torches. The shadows danced and his eyes moved pleasurably with them, taking in their slowly changing shapes and letting them calm him down. Now that he had a sense of his boundaries and knew where the door was, he decided to concentrate once more on his own body.

He focused on his ears. He knew they worked fine. Even in the darkness he'd been able to hear the voices around him. After concentrating on his sense of hearing, he could hear the gentle breeze outside the window. He wondered why he hadn't heard it before now. It sounded suspiciously like the waves that had been a part of his dream. The repetition slightly irritated him now instead of the soothing effect that it had had on him before and he wished that he could go back to when he couldn't hear it. He found that ignoring it didn't make it go away however, only enhanced it. He tried hard to listen for the sound of wings that he'd heard before in the darkness. Hard as he listened, it did not come to his straining ears. Maybe the birds had been a figment of his imagination then. He wasn't at all sure about what had actually been real during that time.

_The voices had been real, _His mind reminded him as he heard heavy feet shuffle behind the door.

In a moment of panic, he lost every thought except the need to hide. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to slow his breathing and clear his mind. It proved to be impossible. _Oh no, oh no, oh no; please don't come in, please don't come in_, ran over and over again in his head till the words lost their meaning.

He realized that he couldn't have fooled anyone to be asleep in his rigid state only after the feet had shuffled onwards. He found it hard to care about that, since no one had entered the room to call him out on it. He was exhausted. He'd gone through so many emotional roller coasters in one day after being on lock down for so long. His body was definitely not used to such extremes and his head pounded and all he wanted to do was to go back to sleep. How could he stop now, though? He knew that this was his only chance to slip out of here unnoticed while everyone still thought he was out of it. He had slept enough for a life time. There was no more time to be wasted.

After listening, he thought he should move onto his mouth, but found he didn't want to try talking yet. His mouth was too dry to produce any tangible words and he didn't wish the sound to attract unwanted attention. So he focused on his sense of smell instead. He could detect a sterile smell that his mind provided a picture for: a hospital. Well he'd already had that figured out from the gurneys and the pale blue colour of the walls, and the certain knowledge that he was in a Psyche Ward, but it was nice to know all his senses worked fine nonetheless. Now he had to focus on getting free. There was nothing restraining him from getting up and walking away. It led him to believe that people in this section were not expected to wake up. How long had he been lost in the darkness? He was sure it must have been years for such certainty to be born that no one here would wake up and make a run for it. If it truly was a Psyche Ward, wouldn't they care about people getting away? Well, he wasn't going to question his good luck. It was time to move.

He tried to roll onto his side and push himself into a sitting position, but his hand gave out under his weight and he slumped back against the hard mattress. His whole body was shaking with effort and he felt sticky with sweat already. He tried again. His never-ending patience was the only thing that kept him from giving up. He'd waited eternities before, this was nothing compared to that. This time there was no pain to fight. Only the weakness of his own body was stopping him and that would be within his control. He let himself get lost in the timelessness once more. He wouldn't let himself panic about how long it was taking. It would take immense effort to fight the life back into a body that hadn't been used for years. He focused on lifting himself fraction by fraction, on pushing every part of his body to break the ice and start moving.

He was surprised when the darkness outside became decidedly brighter, slowly turning into dawn. He hadn't felt that much time passing. Perhaps the skills he'd learned while in the darkness would be more useful than he'd expected them to be. He watched the torches slowly dim until finally their fire was completely out, glad that his eyes weren't bothering him as much anymore.

Sitting up seemed impossible, but he knew it wasn't, nothing ever really was. He had to start over many times. His hands were slippery with sweat and the white sheets clung to his drenched body. But by the time it was noon, or so he judged by the immense amount of light filling the room, he finally did it. Shaky and out of breath, he finally got himself into a sitting position. He hadn't felt this good since… well, he couldn't remember. Although the physical exertion left him even more weak and shaky, in a strange way it also made him feel empowered. He'd come so far. He couldn't give up now.

Next, he tried to put his feet on the floor. He was sure they wouldn't support him. They felt like jelly. Curling and uncurling his toes and swinging his feet in the air a few times brought back some feeling into them. He supposed he should be glad for all the screaming and writhing the voices caused him to do; if not, he couldn't have been able to get the feeling back into his unused limbs this fast. But for some reason, he didn't feel so grateful. Those voices had caused him so much pain after all. He rubbed his thighs slowly, relishing the feeling of both using his hands and rubbing the weakness from his thighs. All these feelings and sensations felt both familiar and new at the same time. He had some trouble dragging himself from them and refocusing on standing up, but in the end his desire to get out of this room that had held him for years won over.

He put his left foot on the white-marbled floor, eyes wide in wonder. It was cold. Goose bumps rose all over his tingling leg, arms, and even the back of his neck. Next, he was shivering all over and had to pull back his foot. He wrapped the thin blanket that was sweaty but more appealing than the cold around himself and rubbed his hands over his arms and legs to soothe the goose bums. Soon he felt okay enough to try putting his foot back on the chilly floor. This time, he kept it there despite the cold. After he got somewhat used to the uncomfortable feeling residing deep inside his stomach due to the nipping temperature, he placed his right foot next to his left. He pushed himself closer to the edge of the gurney, took a deep breath, held on hard to the bedside table with one hand, his other hand pushing onto the mattress, and tried to pull himself onto his feet. He braced himself and stood up.

And then his world turned vertical as he fell down.

He knew that his shaky feet wouldn't support him if he tried standing up again. They screamed at him to lay back in the gurney, rest for days nonstop, and give up this futile task of going anywhere in his weakened state. But his mind screamed at him to get up and try again. He saw Lily smiling gently at him, James beside her with those eyes that knew him so well, knew that his will was strong enough to push him into trying again, and gathered all his strength. He couldn't let them down.

He lost count of how many times he tumbled back onto the floor. How many times he was sure he'd gotten the hang of it before his vision tilted and his hands broke his fall onto the hard floor. But after he got halfway through the room, from his gurney towards the door, he was finally convinced that he wasn't going to be pressed against the horrible sterile smell that came off the marbled floor anymore. It was true that his progress was very slow and his steps were very small, but he wasn't falling anymore. His legs were shaking, and he wasn't walking in a straight line, and he was somewhat crouched in order to keep his balance, but he had a wide smile and a warmth of pride and wonder that kept him going. In fact, he was so lost in the sensations that he didn't hear the heavy footsteps coming towards the door before it was too late and the door knob was already turning. He saw two people come face to face with him, frozen in mid-step as they took him in.

"Ah, Mr Potter. It must be my lucky day. You're awake." A sarcastic, cold voice drawled.

Harry felt dread take hold of him and before he knew it, he was losing consciousness and his world turned to black. The scream never had time to escape his lips.


	3. Enquiries

**Author's Notes: **Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and Peter Pettigrew are in this one. They interrogate a confused Harry.

**Chapter Three**

**Enquiries**

He could hear the fluttering noise again. Eager to find its source, he opened his eyes. Instead of birds however, he was faced with a wand trained on him. Strings of colours were shooting out of it, swirling around his body and creating the sound that was akin to the beating of a bird's wings. The owner of the wand must have realized that Harry was awake, because the spells came to a stop. The vivid colours that were lighting up the small room faded away to wisps of smoke and He was enwrapped in darkness. He held off the panic by reminding himself that this darkness was different from the one that ate his memories and personality. _I have to get over my irrational fears_, he chided himself.

"Mr Potter. Welcome back." The cold voice echoed around Harry. The sarcasm was still very much prominent.

"Where am I?" Harry croaked. His voice cracked halfway through and he yearned for some water to clear his throat and wet his lips. He was regretting not working on his voice now. It made him seem weak in front of his captor.

There was a long pause.

"You don't remember?" The voice enquired disbelievingly.

Harry shook his head in denial. Realizing too late that the person couldn't have seen him in the darkness, he rethought his response. He cleared his throat a few times, praying that he wouldn't croak this time, and said "I was in the Psyche Ward," more confidently, since he was sure about that fact even if he wasn't about anything else. To show his captor that he wasn't as lost as he seemed to be, he added "I'm Harry Potter," boldly, for good measure.

There was another long pause. It went on for so long that Harry thought he might have fallen back asleep before the voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Indeed. Do you remember who I am?" The voice asked doubtfully.

Harry was about to say no, but a cold mistrustful feeling crept over him. He had no reason to trust this person. He wasn't sure how much he should let on about what he did and did not remember, and so he just kept quiet. Come to think of it, this person had been one of the voices that had caused him so much pain. He didn't owe this person anything.

When it became clear that he wasn't going to answer, the voice started questioning him about the last thing or first thing that he remembered with more force. Harry kept quiet throughout it. He was actually pretty good at drowning the enquiring voice. After all, he'd had a lot of practice at ignoring voices. He easily slipped back into the timelessness and the eternal patience that were getting easier and easier to call and refused to get angry at the person who had caused him harm. He was also the reason he'd finally woken up after all. He was trying to remember all the colours of a rainbow when the resounding silence caught his attention and brought him back to the present. The voice had not uttered a word for a while now. Had it given up and gone away? Harry hoped so.

He heard a quick fluttering noise, quite different from the soothing and long-lasting sounds of the first spells that had been performed on him, and it was as if a black film had been removed from over his eyes. Although nothing physical had been blocking his vision, he'd believed the room to be in complete darkness. Now he realized that it was only himself who had been kept in the dark. If he hadn't come to peace with the dark once he'd made sure that he was not going to slip back into the madness, the experience would have been quite traumatic. Maybe that was the effect the voice had been hoping for, because if Harry wasn't mistaken, his captor's eyes were dull with disappointment. After all, Harry had a weapon they didn't know about: he had a purpose. He wanted to uncover his past, and find his parents. He would not slip back into the darkness, he was sure of it. No matter how bad his life had been to push him to wish for the darkness in the first place, now that he knew it had only been a false sense of peace, he knew he desired it no more.

"Do you remember me now, Mr Potter?" The voice snapped.

Harry looked into the bottomless black eyes and tried to find a spark of recognition. He had a sense of déjà vu, but that was pretty much it. He continued to look blankly at the man in front of him.

He wasn't sure how he knew there was something wrong, but he supposed it was the sound that alarmed him. There was a piercing noise, a dead note. It was hardly detectable; nothing like the loud noises created by spells. But it was emitting from the questioner and coming towards Harry. He felt a pressure against the air around his head, pushing to get to him. In fact, if he strained his ears, he could hear the air around his head vibrate as the charged waves made their way towards him. At first he thought he must be imagining it. But after it didn't stop approaching him and he saw his captor's eyes tightening in expectation and suspicion, he decided that it must be real, and that he didn't want it reaching him. Whatever it was, it was invading his space, and soon would reach him. He wasn't keen on finding out what would happen once it did. He hadn't had control on anything for a long time. He wasn't going to let it go on any longer.

It came to him like oxygen would to his lungs. He had no control over it. He simply wished it, and so it was. There was an invisible barrier around his head, blocking the path of the wave. It stopped it in its tracks, vibrating only inches away from Harry.

Harry could do nothing but stare at the scene in front of him. He tried to conceal his shock and wonderings and compose himself in front of this unfriendly man that was sending waves to him with no warning. It wouldn't help to act like he wasn't on top of things, although he didn't remember ever being more confused in his life. His memories were somewhat limited, but still. The barrier was pale blue, and its song was the soothing sound of the waves that Harry could distinctly recall. It made him relax slightly and though he was unsure of how he had conjured it, he knew it would protect him and that was all that mattered right now.

"What are you doing? How are you blocking me?" The man growled, surprised. He narrowed his eyes and snapped his fingers.

A man that Harry hadn't noticed before stepped forward from the corner of the small room and stood anxiously in front of Harry. His eyes never stayed on anything for too long, they jumped from Harry to the man to the wall and to the floor every few seconds. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if the man were to grow whiskers and twitch his ears. He oddly resembled a scared rat, with bald patches on his head.

"Watch him," The cold voice ordered testily and walked out the room.

The rat-like man nodded his head vigorously and stepped back to the corner of the room. Harry thought that he might be more afraid of Harry than Harry was of him. He looked at the man doubtfully. He was the one who was locked up here, the helpless one in the situation. He looked sideways at his hands and feet. They were at his sides, but he couldn't move them. He thought about using the strange magic that had sprouted from his will alone to create the barrier, and he would have, had he had any idea how to wield it. He tried to will himself to be free, but now that he wasn't scared for his safety, the way that he had been when faced with immediate danger, nothing was happening. He sighed in frustration. What good was defence if he was stuck here? He was sure that they would wear him out eventually and he didn't want to think about what would happen when he couldn't protect himself from them anymore. He pushed at the despair. His plan of escaping from the Psyche Ward had backfired. That didn't mean he should simply give up. Now that his mind wasn't as foggy, he could come up with a more solid plan to get away.

He eyed the door. It was left ajar; he wouldn't have to worry about a lock. Looking at the nervous man in the corner, he wondered if he was scared enough to give in to Harry's demands to free him. Probably not. Feeling the calculating stare focused on him, the rat-like man squirmed in place and gave him a glare that would have been convincing if the scared whimpers weren't escaping his lips at the same time. Harry rolled his eyes and decided to wait patiently for the other man's return. At least the other man was interesting.

He didn't know whether to be alarmed or glad when he came back. He eyed the new person that had been brought along with him. He stood in front of Harry, waiting for some kind of recognition. After Harry continued to blankly stare at him, the new man laughed a high-pitched and delighted laugh that made Harry's stomach churn. He felt so trapped and uncomfortable in this situation. On top of it all, he had no idea who these people were, while they seemed perfectly sure of whom he was. It all made his head hurt. Being in the darkness had been definitely easier than this. He still had a headache from all these complications.

"He really doesn't remember!" the newcomer proclaimed. He had very fine long blond hair and eyes just as cold as the first man. They were bottomless grey instead of black, but that was the only difference.

Harry decided that he didn't trust this one either. He felt like an animal in a circus, displayed for other people's viewing pleasure. He looked at the people in the room with open disdain, feeling his magic bubble around him, whispering quietly, promising hurt if they came any closer.

"Is that good news?" The rat-like man squeaked. The other two men turned and looked at him with a start as though they'd forgotten he was there, or more likely, that he could talk.

"It's excellent news. There are so many possibilities… our Lord will be delighted to hear about this." The blond man replied with an edge of excitement barely concealed in his voice.

At this comment, the rat-like man stood up straight for the first time instead of hunching and his nose twitched happily.

"I shall go and inform the Dark Lord of the excellent news!" He squeaked as he half-walked, half-ran out the door.

The newcomer smirked at the retreating back and turned back to the other man. "The fool. He still refuses to let go. At least it's easy to get rid of him." The other met his smirk with glinting eyes.

"Indeed." They turned to study Harry once more. The blond man stepped closer to Harry, holding his eyes.

"My apologies Mr Potter, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I believe introductions are in order. I am Lucius Malfoy and this is Severus Snape. The man who just walked out… That's Peter Pettigrew. Now, I want you to think hard Mr Potter, think with all your might. Do you really not remember a thing about any of the names I have mentioned?"

Harry looked at him with a bored expression. He didn't know what was going on around him, and if no one was going to explain it to him, he wasn't going to try and wrap his head around it. It was getting old fast, and he was discovering that his endless patience wasn't so endless after all. Annoyance was soon taking its place, and he was just about ready to give in and let the bubbling magic fulfil its promises. He tried searching for ways that he could escape this room once more to calm himself down, but there weren't a lot of options to work with. There weren't even any windows to take his attention away, and no Peter Pettigrew to scare to amuse himself. Instead, he lost himself in trying to remember his earlier life. A few images lingered in his head; the flash of green light, his Mother's smiling face, his Father's expectant eyes, and a cruel endless laugh that he was sure would be haunting him for a long time.

His eyes snapped to Severus Snape when the man moved closer, reaching inside his robes. He saw the vial that was brought towards him, and clenched his mouth shut more tightly, remembering how those hands had fed him potions time and time again without his consent. He glared at him, daring him to try it again. He tried calling on his magic, and panicked when his magic wouldn't be willed into protecting him this time. The last thing he remembered was cold hands prying his mouth open and emptying the potion into his mouth, not letting him spit it back out.

xXx

He woke up, lying in a soft bed in a considerably bigger and brighter room. Without really having a chance or desire to study his surroundings, he slipped back into a restless sleep, allowing the exhaustion to take him. He woke up many times at different times of the day in the following days, all the while letting sleep take him again without much care for where he was or who was with him. He would have been glad for the chance to sleep through his exhaustion after waking up from the darkness if he had not been having so many nightmares. He occasionally heard the fluttering noise and knew that people were performing magic next to him or on him and tried to block it from affecting him, but he wasn't sure how successful he was as he was so out of it and had mostly given up on caring about what happened to him.

After he felt most of his exhaustion dissolve from all the sleep that he was getting, his will to take control of life started to come back to him and he became more aware of his surroundings. Moreover, his nightmares about the darkness became fewer in number and they failed to scare him as much as before. As his attention was taken away from the nightmares and became more focused, his senses became enhanced in ways he hadn't experienced before. Now that he wasn't as exhausted, he could feel how unusual it was that he could feel things that he knew ordinary wizards shouldn't feel. For instance, he knew that he had a lot of visitors, not because of the noise they made, but because their presence was a constant vibration next to him and their magic fluttered differently. He could now distinguish between people by the fluttering of their magic.

He knew Lucius Malfoy's magic was tamer, for example, and Severus Snape's had a more monotonous fluttering that felt more dangerous. Other people also visited him, but he didn't know them, and they weren't very interesting. The flutters of their magic were more subdued and they were unimportant to him. The sterile smell that they carried categorized them as healers. They checked on him, or poured things down his throat. He knew they were only giving him nutrition potions and nothing harmful, his magic told him so, though he wasn't sure how, but was inclined to trust it.

He continued to steadily grow stronger. He became even more aware of his environment, to the point that besides hearing the flutters of peoples' magic, even when they weren't performing spells, he could see the aura around them if he concentrated on it. Another upside of all this rest was that his mind became clearer than it had ever been, letting him see that all his escape plans had been useless. Without learning exactly where he was, simply escaping a room didn't guarantee his freedom. He would have to wait and plan carefully.

Although none of his visitors came on regular intervals, there was a presence that would watch him from the doorway every night, a shimmering bright colour that only made a small vibration in Harry's strange new senses. He wasn't sure how he could sense people or hear magic, but that wasn't quite as puzzling as the frequent visits of the shimmering presence. Who was he? Did he know Harry too? Was he also another person from his past that Harry couldn't remember?

There was one question that nagged him non-stop, one that pushed him into recovering faster and healing sooner so that he could find the answer to.

What if he did remember this person from his earlier life?


	4. Waking Up

**Chapter Four**

**Waking Up**

On a bright sunny afternoon, Harry opened his eyes and didn't feel fatigued or weak anymore. He blinked, confused for a few minutes, before it all came rushing back. He felt an annoyance of being in strange places he didn't recognize. He wanted his memory back with a yearning that hadn't been there before. Waking up in the Psyche Ward that was at least familiar to him would have been preferable to waking up here, in an empty spacious room, alone.

No, not alone. He felt movement on his right. There was a pop on his side and he caught a glimpse of a vanishing house elf. It had probably gone to get someone, and so he tried to take advantage of his short time alone. Slowly sitting up, he flexed his legs and pushed himself off the bed. His legs still shook, but he didn't feel as if he would fall over any moment. It was nice to be able to walk normally.

He felt a bright and warm spot on his left. He looked to the left hopefully, believing it to be the shimmering presence of his frequent visitor. The brightness, however, turned out to be nothing more than the sun shining outside, visible through large floor-to-ceiling windows. He frowned. He should have known that it wasn't a person; the fluttering of their magical aura hadn't been there. He looked at the light, anticipating pain and a soaring headache. He cringed away from the light, but the pain never came. Courage flooded his veins; at least something seemed to be going right.

Going to the window, he had a view of an endless green field. He was surprised that they had put him in a room with a window. They_._ Who were they? What did they want from him? He remembered something about a Dark Lord. Was that the person responsible for all he'd been through? He wanted some answers. Needed them. The need to get out of this unknown place won over his curiosity quickly. He had planned on searching through the rooms around him first to form a proper escape plan, but if the window was right here, then that made his job all the easier. Considering that the person that the house elf would bring would come through the door, his best getaway option was the window after all.

He looked at the window more closely. It seemed to be the sliding kind. Hoping that it wouldn't be locked, he put both hands on the glass and pushed it to the side. Nothing happened. He grew more desperate as time passed and the window wouldn't budge. He felt the buzz of his magic rise and watched in amazement as a warm feeling spread through his palms and the window slowly slid open. Breathing in the fresh air for the first time, he slowly stepped onto the balcony, as if he was in a dream and was afraid that if he moved too fast he would end it.

The balcony was small and had a fence around it that came up to his waist. He could climb over it, but it was a fall of about 20 feet to the ground after that. He tested his muscles doubtfully. Although the grass looked soft enough, he knew that if he jumped, his healing body could easily snap back and he'd be useless, lying flat on the ground below. Not even his strange new magic would be able to save him from that. Probably.

"Good morning, Mr Potter." The familiar cold voice came from the front door, this time carrying a tone of amusement, before he could make a decision.

The name of its owner came back to him. Severus Snape. He tried hard to remember something, anything, associated with that name. Nothing came to him. He didn't want to face this stranger. He wanted to escape this place. Despite not having any clue how, he stood there for a few more minutes, gripping the rail. He wished he could be anywhere other than here. Surely nowhere else could be as torturous as this place where they put him so close to freedom and taunted him with his inability to take it. Taking deliciously deep breaths in the fresh air, he savoured the last free breaths he could take before he had to go back to the closed-off room.

Little by little, he let go and turned around, stepping back inside the room. He saw two black eyes pasted to him, detecting his smallest movements. He heard the glass behind him slide shut with a soft click. Standing as close to the window as he could without actually pressing against the glass, he stared blankly at the man. He noticed things that he hadn't paid much attention to in the small, dark room. The dark haired man with the bottomless black eyes had a very sharp nose and had his mouth set permanently in an angle that conveyed strong dislike at the world in general. He had moved further into the room, but not close enough to make him feel trapped yet. But that's what he really was. Trapped. He had a sudden vision of a whimpering mouse and a cat's menacing claws as it closed its paws around the frail body.

His heart beat faster and louder as each second passed by. The silence became over-bearing and if he didn't have the never-ending patience on his side, he thought he might have screamed if he were forced to spend another minute under scrutiny. Finally, someone spoke up, and he was glad that it wasn't him.

"If you could please follow me, Mr Potter." Snape said, distinctly enunciating each word and casually stepping aside. Although the move was meant to be encouraging, Harry inched backwards, closer still towards the window, until he could feel the cool glass pressed against his hands. Maybe he would make the fall to the ground relatively unscathed. He saw the wand twitch in Snape's lowered hand, as if in reaction to his thoughts.

He didn't know anything. He wasn't sure of who he really was, where he was, or who these people were. He didn't even know if he could trust this man. Now that he was thinking clearly, he could see that Severus Snape hadn't given him a reason to distrust him yet. Yes, he had given him numerous potions when he was in the darkness, but now he knew they had all been sleeping potions, meant to help him lose consciousness when the pain of the hands became too much to bear, the same one he'd given him in the dark room when Harry had been too agitated to fall to much needed sleep on his own. And yes, he had held him in the dark room and questioned him, and he still wasn't sure what the wave directed at him had meant to do, but for all he knew it hadn't been a harmful spell. None of the other spells he'd performed when Harry had been unconscious had been harmful after all. At the same time, the spell could have been harmful. It was directed at his head after all. It was likely that it was meant to extract memories, to see if Harry truly didn't remember. He felt a subdued rage go through him. He had nothing left but the few memories, images, that resided in his head. They were private, personal. If Severus Snape wanted proof of Harry's state of mind, he could have at the very least asked for permission. He narrowed his eyes at the man, the small beginnings of trust that was forming in his head turning into suspicion and dislike. He felt his fingertips heat up and had a mental image of sparks coming off them if he wished it so.

He was willing to stand there all day long, tainting the air around him with distrust. Severus Snape simply raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, making Harry feel like a child that was acting ridiculous. He weighed his options. He had two sensible ones. One, he could try to jump the twenty feet and hope for the best. Best case scenario, he'd be able to run fast enough, after sustaining injuries of his fall, mind you, to escape. He'd find somewhere to hide and then go searching for his parents and try to uncover his past.

Two, he would blindly follow this man. His hair stood on end at the thought. He was seriously considering option one when a sober thought brought him up short. He needed answers. Even if he did escape, he had nowhere to go. He'd be lost forever, in an unknown world. He'd die alone in the cold, without ever discovering the truth about his past. A shiver went through him and he frowned at the thought. He had only thought that he would need to explore the place where he was held to figure out an escape plan. But where was he escaping to? There was no destination in his mind whatsoever. He slumped, all fight leaving him. Even if he wanted to jump out regardless and take his chances out there, he was sure that Severus Snape would act long before he had reopened the window to make his escape.

So, he would follow the unwanted guide. If they hurt him, he would fight his way out. Although he didn't understand this strange magic that filled him and the heat in his hands that made him feel as if he could do anything, it had worked for him so far. He could at least hope that he'd be able to fight his way out with this leaking magic, whatever it really was.

What if it was just his imagination, though? What if his hands weren't doing anything? What if there had been no vibrations in the air, only his weakened mind playing tricks on him? What if the window had been unlocked all along and he had only needed to push harder? Who had ever heard of hearing magic or sensing auras?

They had wands. He had nothing. Not even the element of surprise: his every move was monitored.

_You need answers,_ he repeated to himself. He forced his legs to move, one foot after the other, and ignored the smug expression on the wizard's face trailing his progress.

Dark as his thoughts were, he couldn't get the golden shimmering presence out of his head. Who had it been? It had been a completely alien sensation, feeling someone's aura, but something about it had felt familiar.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a question was directed his way. He scowled at the man who had brought a stop to his thoughts on the shimmering aura that brought warm sensations with it whenever he envisioned it.

"Did the house elves open the door to the balcony for you?" Severus Snape asked casually.

Harry gnawed on his lip and considered saying yes. If he wasn't sure about how the glass door had slid open, should he lie about it? It felt as if he was in the dark, trying to blindly manoeuvre his way out through deadly objects. Was his magic unusual in this world? Maybe everyone's magic worked this way. He glanced at the other wizard's wand from the corner of his eyes. No, everyone else had a wand here. He considered just keeping silent, but that would make it seem even more suspicious. It was a simple question after all.

"They must have," he answered just as casually. If he had not been so tense about where they were going and what was to happen to him now, he would have actually started laughing. They sounded as if they were discussing the weather without a care in the world, but they both knew the underlying message, if the way that Severus Snape tensed up at his reply was any indication.

_Simply acting like nothing's wrong puts me in control_, he thought smugly. If only that had not been the farthest thing from the truth right then, his sense of safety wouldn't have felt as fragile and false. The truth was that his missing memories and information crippled him too much to give him any control here. That made the fact that he could hold this information over the others all the grander. He supposed this was the only thing that he knew that they didn't.

He brought back his attention to where they were going. They were walking through long hallways with high ceilings that passed by huge rooms. All the windows were large floor-to-ceiling ones. He felt as if he was placed in a huge doll house. He lost himself in thoughts of doll houses and toys and childhood for a while. It was hard to concentrate on anything for too long; his mind was jumping from subject to subject, marvelling over all the things he had forgotten. Although he had forgotten them, they were still locked away at the back of his mind, and a small trigger was enough to bring them back out. They seemed rusty somehow, unused. They seemed to be from so far away back, from another life, faded. After he brought them back into focus, he would remember that they really were his own memories. He couldn't remember anything solid; no memories from a younger Harry. Only sensations and objects.

He could only hope that they were locked somewhere inside him as well and that after some time they'd be triggered into coming back to him too.

He looked at the portraits that hung on the walls around him. This was a darker hallway, as more portraits hung on the wall and did not leave place for many windows. The people in the portraits were mostly asleep and their soft snores surrounded him. The ones that were awake looked at him with interest, as if they weren't used to new people roaming these hallways. Some of them would look at him with some suspicion and their eyes would go wide in recognition before turning into glares. When the shock of portraits disliking him wore off, he arrived at the conclusion that in his earlier life, he must not have belonged with this crowd. It was probable that they shared mutual dislike, because he was returning the glares on instinct, and it felt to be right and in place.

Severus Snape looked at the dark expressions on his face and sighed in exasperation. When they passed the portraits and were once again back to a bright hallway that included windows and no nosey portraits, pushed him against the wall and looked hurriedly left and right. Harry was so startled that he didn't resist it when he was pulled into a dark cupboard nearby.

"Listen here, Potter." Severus Snape snapped.

Harry frowned and tried to pull his hand away, thinking this another plan to get into his memories.

"I don't care if you're lying about remembering or not, but it's a good plan. Stick to it. As long as they think you don't remember anything, you're not a threat to them. They'll let you go. With heavy supervision, granted, but they'll let you live. You hear me? Stick to it." Snape said as he shook Harry's hand, not releasing it until he got a nod of understanding from him.

"I'm not lying," Harry whispered as they exited the cupboard and continued on their way.

Snape didn't even look back at him. It was as if nothing had happened. He still kept the straight posture and Harry bet that his lips were still curled downwards in strong dislike.

But who was this strange wizard fooling? Was he lying to Harry, or to the captors? For the first time, he seriously considered the likelihood of his head exploding.


	5. The Truth

**Author's Note: **I tried to update faster this time guys, I really did! Did it pay off? Not really T.T but here you go. Chapter five. I was really excited to write this one.

There are little bits of Draco here and there in this chapter. It's a bit of a tease, really. I enjoyed writing it :3

**Chapter Five**

**Truth behind the Mask**

It seemed as if they were walking forever when they finally came to a stop before tall doors. He started to wonder if Snape was only stopping for a theatrical pause, when a loud voice said "Come in."

The double doors opened and they walked through it into the largest room yet. There were a few people here, gathered around the fireplace, their attention focused on a vase above the mantelpiece. Harry glanced over at the people crowding there and recognized Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew, but saw no one fit to be called a Dark Lord.

The room had the signature floor-to-ceiling windows and light flooded the room. He still instinctively wanted to protect his eyes from strong light, but there was really no need for it. His eyes could stand the light now. He wasn't sure why, but his nose had tried to detect an old and dusty smell in the big mansion ever since he'd woken up. Maybe he'd been in an old house like this before, one that wasn't as spotless as this one. An image of a dark and narrow hallway popped into his head, but before he could make anything of it, it disappeared once more. Before it vanished however, Harry saw a washed out image of a man with long brown hair and kind eyes and a sad smile. He tried hard to keep the image floating in his head and drag out some information about the man from behind the wall in his head. The only thing that he could remember however was a name: Sirius.

Realizing that he'd stopped mid-step, he quickened his pace and followed Snape to the middle of the room. Standing rigidly as the unfamiliar crowd made a small circle around him, he kept his eyes cast down. It was useless, as he could still feel their eyes on him.

Minutes passed and they kept staring at him. It felt as if their gazes had a physical force behind them. They were heavy. They were choking him. A sudden sense of nausea took over his body. He didn't like being stared at like this. It felt more than just a normal discomfort from being the centre of attention; it felt as if somehow it ran a deeper root within him. He could tell that people focusing on him had always been a problem for him, something that he'd tried to avoid in the past.

He didn't have it in him to be excited about remembering clues about his past. He was too nervous about what these people wanted from him. He was sure that they were going to interrogate him again and was angry with himself for not lying well enough and letting Snape know about the unlocked balcony.

He wished that he could fast forward the whole encounter and be done with it. He wanted to be exploring things, trying to trigger a past memory from a faded scent or a familiar object. Instead, he was stuck in the centre of a circle, completely defenceless and vulnerable.

The flood of questions started as if a lid on a jar had been lifted and they continued to ask him about what he really did or did not remember. After repeating that the first thing he had a memory of was waking up in that hospital bed, he grew tired of their questions and kept quiet. At one point, he saw Lucius Malfoy scowl and take a step forward with his wand raised halfway, and was sure that he was going to be tortured now. However, Snape placed a warning hand on his elbow and frowned and the blonde-haired man stepped back again.

He really didn't know what to make of Severus Snape. Whose side was he on? Furthermore, he had yet to mention anything about the unlocked balcony. Harry grew more puzzled by the second.

"Mr Potter," Lucius Malfoy snapped.

For the first time, Harry looked up. He stared into those emotionless grey eyes and tried to mimic the neutral expression that Lucius managed to keep on his face. If Lucius lied through his teeth right now, no one would know it, because his face was as impassive as a rock. He needed to look like that if he wanted to get out of this situation. He needed to convince them that he was on their side. Even though his every fibre screamed that he wasn't. So he looked into those grey eyes as neutrally as he could, calling on his hard-learned patience, and tried to persuade everyone that he did not remember a single thing or that he did not feel like getting hold of a wand and sending green sparks flying towards his captors every time he laid eyes upon them, even without a solid reason why.

Green sparks. The flash in his head. And he knew. He knew what the green flash had meant. The pale face of the monster… it had sent green sparks towards Lily. Towards his Mother. It had killed his Mother with the Avada Kedavra curse.

He gritted his teeth and tried not to show his internal turmoil. It was impossible. His Mother was dead. His Father must be as well. What had been the point of waking up? What was the point of holding on to the light when there was nothing here for him? He saw dark holes in his vision. His head swam. Was he going to faint? Was he going to fade away into the darkness once more?

A shimmering light lit up on his side and caught Harry's attention. The golden light, weak as it was, chased away the darkness. And he was sure that this was the same person, the same visitor that he'd been half conscious of. He barely restrained himself from turning around and staring at the person who had just arrived and chased away his darkness. Would he recognize the person?

He cast a sideways glance to his left. Behind the faces of the small group around him, he caught a glimpse of fine golden hair and a pale forehead. The resemblance between colour of the short blonde hair and Lucius Malfoy's hair was uncanny. Harry wasn't sure if he was friends with a relative of Lucius Malfoy's in his earlier life. It seemed impossible, telling by the strong dislike that sprouted every time he thought of the name 'Malfoy'. But the shimmering light never stopped pressing itself against the edge of his consciousness. It piqued his curiosity and gave him reason to hold onto the real world. And he was grateful for it. It reminded him that his parents had after all woken him up and so there must be a reason why he shouldn't slip into the darkness. It reminded him how directionless and detached he'd felt in the darkness. He didn't want to feel that way ever again.

So he stopped trying to steal glances at the shimmering presence and gave his attention to Lucius bloody Malfoy.

"There was a war," Lucius Malfoy continued in a monotone.

That caught Harry's attention. This was information he needed. This was something he didn't remember. They were telling him about his past. But why? Could they be lying? He found himself holding onto the story word by word nonetheless, hungry for some answers.

"We lost some of the greatest wizards in the war. Lives were torn apart. Many died. Many were lost forever. And some, like you, slipped into a magical coma. No one, however, has woken up again. You are the first and only person. So you see why we are curious…"

Harry blinked. He hadn't expected to get some real answers, but what Lucius Malfoy was saying seemed honest enough. He'd seen those other people in the hospital room with him, unconscious and with ill-looking skins. In a coma, just like he had been. Unrestrained, as if they were already sure that they would never wake up again.

"Tell me about the war," Harry said cautiously. He was scared that at any moment they would stop giving him more information.

There was a pause. The frown on Malfoy's face told Harry that he was caught in faraway memories. There was a noise on Harry's right side and he curiously turned his attention onto the small man in the corner, hiding in the shadows, hoping to find the boy with golden hair. Disappointment flooded him when he realized that it was only Peter Pettigrew; but something in his expression held Harry's gaze. Pettigrew came forward a few steps, his face red and his eyes gleaming with anger, pointing a shaking finger at Harry. No one else noticed him, and maybe that's why no one stopped him before he spoke.

"YOU KILLED HIM! You killed the Dark Lord!" He squeaked with his rat-like voice and ran over to the vase on top of the fireplace.

He stopped, his hands inches from grabbing it, as if torn between laying his hands upon it or leaving it be. The moment soon passed and his decisive fingers curled around the vase. That was when Harry finally realized that it wasn't a vase. It was an urn. Pettigrew hugged the urn to his chest and looked up at Harry with a half-mad expression.

"You killed him!" He accused again.

As he started cursing Harry, Lucius had the urn flown to him with a quick "_Accio Urn_!_"_ and with a "_Petrificus Totalus!"_ Pettigrew was lying flat on the ground. Malfoy's face twisted in annoyance for a moment before he regained composure of his features.

"Yes," He said quietly. "Our Lord set out to kill you and seize the resistance once and for all. Our side was sure of our hold on victory. There were gruesome deaths that always follow war's path, of course. The war at long last ended with you killing the Dark Lord, and then blacking out. You must realise, Mr Potter, that the dark side looked to the Dark Lord and the light to you. People didn't know what to do with both of you gone. Both sides of the war lost their directions. In the end, the victors prosecuted a lot of us dark wizards, but let the ones in hiding escape. Let us live, in filth and darkness. Reconstructed their ministry and schools and lives. Left us with nothing. Pretended that we didn't exist. Mourned their lost ones and forgot that we had lost many too. This was not how it was supposed to happen. Had we won, we would have killed or enslaved all those who didn't join our way. We would have tortured thousands."

Harry flinched. If this was true, then why was he here? Why was he in the hands of the dark wizards? If he was the hero, why had they left him behind?

Reading the question on his face, Lucius smiled bitterly.

"We have no place in their new world. We don't get jobs, we can't shop in the same places, and we can't go to their schools. They let us take care of the small things, like watch over half-dead wizards. They doubtless found it ironic, having us taking care of the golden boy who finished off our Lord and ended our lives of glory."

Harry hadn't believed it possible to want to be somewhere else more than he already had, but every passing second proved him wrong. They blamed him for everything. And now, no one besides these people here knew that he was awake. No one knew that there was even a possibility of him waking up. No one was going to find out if they killed him right here and now.

Even Snape wouldn't be able to help him, if he even truly was on Harry's side.

A shimmer of golden aura on his left reminded him that even his hope might have been misguided and that he was breathing his last breaths. No coma to save him this time.


	6. Lucky Break

**Author's Note: **I'm very sleep deprived, have the flu and my exams start on Tuesday. Nevertheless, here's chapter six.

I stayed up until five in the morning to write this. I think I deserve a teeny tiny review. Pretty please? *smiles the cutest smile*

**Chapter six**

**Lucky Break**

As he stood there, motionless, regarding his killers-to-be, he felt a change stirring in the room. Until now, it had been as if the temperature was steadily dropping, reaching the chill that it had now. The whole room seemed to have been getting ready for his murder. Now, it seemed as if warmness was replacing the cold, and it gave Harry new hope. The fluttering of his magic reassured him that there was someone on his side in this room, someone with enough power and authority to stop the vicious from getting their revenge. He trusted it, because what else could he do?

He looked at Snape hopefully. He still didn't really trust the man, but after losing all hope, even a possibility of an ally was better than nothing. Besides, as time passed by, he became more and more certain of having known Snape in his old life. It was as if he knew exactly how to read the pale face, the cold features, and the intense eyes. He wished he hadn't been able to, because right now, the slight pursing of the lips told him that things weren't going the way Snape had hoped they would. There was nothing he could do for Harry.

"He doesn't remember any of this?" A cold voice mocked.

Harry tried not to jump. His nerves were shot, anticipating assault from all sides. Before he even turned to look at the person who had spoken, he knew that it would be the same visitor with the golden aura. It was hard not to notice his every move in the small crowd around him.

"How amusing. Let me guess, Father, your plan is to keep him around and see if it is a permanent loss of memory? And if so, use him to our advantage? That is brilliant. A fate befitting the saviour, I suppose." The voice went on without once looking at Harry.

His hair was as golden as his aura, maybe even more so. He had stormy grey eyes, not as emotionless as his Father's, but close to them. He held himself the same way as everyone else here. They all seemed to hold their chin up a little too proudly. Harry felt sad to notice it. These people were broken, stepped on, and everything they had was taken from them. Still, they kept their heads high and moved on. Deep down, he couldn't help but respect them a little for that.

He was disappointed when his attempts to lock eyes with the speaker failed. He wanted to know why he had been defended. He was sure that Lucius Malfoy had meant to kill him. If this son of his hadn't interfered, hadn't pushed an idea in the open and made it sound as if it had been Lucius' plan all along, Harry would be dead right now. He could see that it was working. He could hear the wheels turn in Lucius' head, see the endless possibilities of having Harry on their side bring a dreamy expression onto his otherwise expressionless face.

"Ah, yes Draco, of course. I see that my plan, simple but uncanny, has crossed your mind as well." Lucius Malfoy took a step towards Harry. Then he turned around to address the small and sadistic group. "We will keep him here. Observe his every move," He turned to give Harry a dark look of warning, "And if it is true that all his memories are forever inaccessible to him, then… then, we will _use _him."

He smirked as he said the last part, and Harry could feel the hair on his neck stand. Lucius could have planned this in secret, but he had wanted Harry to know that he would be watched twenty-four seven. He wanted the pressure of it to snap Harry in two.

Harry wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He looked firmly into those bitter eyes and didn't break his gaze until the smirk on Lucius' lips disappeared and a scowl took its place.

xXx

Harry was very pleased with himself and was lost in his daydreams of how to best kill Lucius –in his sleep, while he was in the shower, or maybe poison his food– when he found himself in a new room. It was bigger than his first bedroom. He'd followed Snape here, but couldn't really remember which corridors they'd taken to get to this room. The concept of how many times he was going to get lost while trying to find his way here gave him a headache.

Snape turned around and gave him a stern look. Seeing the pained expression on Harry's face, he somewhat softened. Harry looked up at him, expecting Snape to tell him that it had been a close call, and that he was safe now, or that he'd watch out for him. He realized that he really did want to trust this man. He thought that maybe with time, he could.

"This is your new room," Snape said instead.

Harry stared at him blankly. Is that all Snape had to say to him? He was starting to go back on what he had believed about trusting him, when the concerned look in those dark eyes reminded him of all the things that Snape couldn't say. Harry was being watched now. Not only watched, but listened to. Every word that was uttered in his presence would be recorded and analysed. Snape couldn't afford to put either of them in danger.

"Thanks," Harry replied. He tried to convey that he believed that Snape was on his side, that he remembered seeing him frequently in his past life, and that he was grateful that Snape had tried to warn him earlier. He wasn't sure if Snape understood all of that, but he nodded at Harry as if he had.

"Dinner will be ready at seven. Someone will come and get you at six forty-five." Snape paused by the door before he exited the room and looked Harry straight in the eyes. "Don't do anything reckless."

The door clicked shut behind him. Harry frowned. He had been thinking about escaping now that he was finally going to be all alone, it was true, but how had Snape known that? He was sure that Snape hadn't looked into his thoughts: he'd been on his toes around the man, keeping his guard up at all times. Maybe Snape was just as good at reading Harry as Harry was at reading him.

But in that glassy stare, he'd seen more than just a warning of escape, or breaking things. He was sure that Snape had really been talking about spells. He was reminding Harry not to do any more wandless magic. Well, of course he wasn't going to! How stupid did Snape think he was? Suddenly, Harry was sure that Snape had been one of his teachers in his earlier life. Who else would have such a complex of ordering him around about the most obvious things?

He gave up on pulling out memories to confirm his suspicions about his past and started going around the room. Hisroom. He had a feeling that he'd be staying here for a long time. They probably wouldn't let him go easily. After all, they said that he was a hero. A hero that had brought down their reign, and was now to help them build back their lives. Harry shuddered and brought his attention back to the room.

It wasn't that bad, considering that he was a prisoner. In fact, it was the best place he'd been situated in so far. If he'd thought that his first bedroom was big, this room was enormous. It had the same view as the first room, but instead of one window, the whole wall over-looking the garden was made of glass. He pressed a hand against the cool glass, infinite possibilities of escape chasing each other in his head. There were two dark-green, thick velvety curtains on either end of the wall, pulled back to reveal the whole view. He was tempted to close it, to make the appeal of running away less tangible, but left them as they were in the end.

Right behind him was the closed door. It was dark wood with carvings on it that Harry didn't understand. The same pattern was done in milky colours on the white walls of the bedroom. His bed, parallel to the door and the windows, was a huge double bed, drowned in pillows. Despite being trapped, he couldn't help a smile. Although the dark-blue bed was not familiar to him, there was a homey feeling surrounding it. He'd slept in a bed similar to this before, he was sure of it. The name _Hogwarts _ran through his head, and a feeling of longing as he'd never felt before filled him. Images of a warm fire, of feeling safe and loved, the smell of freshly baked bread, and a big comfortable red four-poster bed passed through his mind… and then everything went blank.

He was getting more and more confused by his memories. He would see flashes, images escaping through the thick wall that blocked them from his access, and then they would suddenly disappear, as if never there. It left him emptier than before. Knowing that he had had a past, pleasant memories, actual knowledge and a life, and only being allowed glimpses at a time, was tormenting him. He shouted at the black wall, screamed at it, banged on it, but nothing came through.

He sat on the bed and it sunk under his weight. It was hard to think negative thoughts while feeling this comfortable, and he gave up quickly. He crawled up until his head found the mountain of pillows, and let himself collapse in a heap of limbs. He was still not completely used to having a body, healed or not healed. It was all very exhausting. He wondered why he didn't feel as imprisoned as he ought to feel. He wondered why he felt so content and comfortable when only a short while ago he was prepared for torture or death. Had he so easily given up the need to regain control of his life? But no, that wasn't it. Lucius had given him control. He had given him too much of it. He'd allowed Harry to choose his words and actions, to prove his words and keep his life. It was a challenge, a game, something interesting that had Harry content when he thought that winning or losing was completely left up to him. He was in control, even if he wasn't in control of being a hostage. After all, he'd already admitted that there was nothing out there for him, so escaping wasn't as bright a concept anymore. He did still want to escape, simply to gain control of his freedom, but that was it. Staying here and playing a deadly game with people who wanted to murder him sounded more interesting.

He frowned at his train of thought. He had a feeling he was a recklessly brave person in his past life who was used to dangerous situations life this and in fact craved them. He threw up his hands in surrender. This was his life now, and he needed time to trigger his memories anyway. Meanwhile, hiding that he had access to them shouldn't be hard. He smirked, imitating Lucius, wondering if he could perfect his expressionless face at the same time. He closed his eyes, lost in amusement.

Sometimes, it was hard to keep his eyes closed. The dark space between his closed lids was too much alike to the darkness he'd been trapped in for years. Although he'd had no sense of time while he was there, the word _five _danced before him. He'd been in that coma for five years. Somehow he was sure that the war Lucius was talking about had happened five years ago. He knew it like he knew his own name. He wondered if he'd ever get used to his brain just providing him with information that he shouldn't have any way of knowing. Probably not.

His magic buzzed and fluttered around him. It wasn't his brain providing him with these information, Harry corrected himself. It was his magic. The fact that it had a sense of time wasn't surprising him the way that it should have. It was exasperating that his brain and magic would toss around information that he didn't really need, but when it came to his memories that he so badly yearned for, they decided to keep it under lock and key.

_Maybe it's protecting itself, _He thought. _Maybe something terrible happened, and you couldn't live with yourself._

He tried to get the thought out of his head, but since there wasn't much more to think about, it kept circling around in his head. _But I already knew that, _he hissed. _I knew that nothing less that 'terrible' would have warranted me or all those other people to call on the darkness to take our memories away. _Harry sighed, knowing that he'd already accepted this strange life that he had landed in and wondered if that would have happened so fast had he had access to his past life's memories. Would his past self be so content with accepting everything and doing the best he could with the cards he was dealt?

Something else that he hadn't been able to think about earlier in the day came back to him. He had been too occupied with worrying about his life to wonder about it at the time, but Lucius had called his son Draco. Harry tried very hard to make it ring a bell. He tried to remember something, anything, from his past life with this boy. He focused on the stormy grey eyes and tried to call forth a memory. When the dark space in front of his eyes turned to grey clouds instead of the black nothingness it had always been, he knew it was hopeless. He was sort of getting the hang of these flash backs. He would get one when something triggered his memory. Clearly, grey eyes were not that trigger.

With a sad sigh, he slowly opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. A dark velvety sky stared back at him. It was impossible, it was still light outside. He somehow knew that enchanted ceilings should reflect the sky outside. And yet, this one was showing him the darkest of nights. Stars were strewn across it, shining down on him. He fell asleep counting the stars, forgetting his surroundings, his troubles, and even himself.


	7. Shabby

**Chapter seven**

**Shabby**

Harry awoke with a start. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and why he was here. He looked at the house elf that was anxiously standing over him.

"Shabby is here to serve Harry Potter," The elf announced loudly. Harry resisted the urge to jump back and blinked slowly. "Anything Harry Potter needs while staying at the manor, Shabby will provide."

After Harry didn't respond for a few moments, the elf took a step closer to Harry so that their foreheads were almost touching and said, "Harry Potter must get up now."

"It must be time for dinner," Harry finally muttered sleepily.

"It is, Harry Potter, sir," The house elf replied as he twisted and untwisted his fingers. When he stepped back from the bed and Harry got a chance to look at him, he saw that the elf was wearing a very old and ragged pillow case with an upside down tea kettle on his head. "Shabby is here to help Harry Potter get dressed, sir."

While Harry was wondering what sort of a name Shabby was, he was guided to one of the smaller rooms that connected to his bedroom. Believing it to be a bathroom, he followed Shabby blindly. He hadn't been inside here before, and was definitely not expecting it to be a closet. It was half the size of his bedroom, which was surely the biggest closet he'd ever seen; he didn't need access to his old memories to know that much. There were so many different fabrics, and colours, and _options. _He felt his palms go slippery with sweat and tried to dry them on his pants.

If Shabby hadn't been there to pull out dark purple robes for him, he probably would have stood there all night with an open mouth. _Who would ever need so many clothes?_

Considering that Lucius Malfoy had told him they rarely got out of the manor and didn't mingle with other wizards, he really couldn't see the need for all this luxury.

He quickly undressed –he wasn't too keen on waiting for Shabby's help with that– and slipped into the purple robes. They were beautiful, he supposed. Not that it really mattered to him. He would have been just as comfortable wearing his old outfit, which had been a simple black robe. It wasn't like he was trying to impress anyone.

His stomach fluttered and he saw images of golden hair, half-covering stormy, grey eyes. He quickly pushed the images aside, looking frantically around for any mind-readers. He didn't understand this pull towards Draco Malfoy. What was it about him? The fine silvery blonde hair, that lean body, the confident half-smile, the intelligence that shone through his grey eyes… Harry frowned and forced himself to snap out of it. If anything, he now wanted to uncover his past even more than before. To know his friends from his enemies. Until then, he couldn't be sure what the source of these confusing images was.

He lifted his hand onto his eyes. Something didn't feel right. He was sure that his head felt lighter than usual. But that was silly, ever since he'd woken up from that coma, he'd been the same. Nothing had changed. So why did he feel like he was forgetting about something? That something was missing?

Shabby had his eyes glued to him curiously, watching him run his hands run over his eyes.

"Harry Potter, sir?" Shabby frowned. "Is there something wrong with Harry Potter's eyes?"

"Did I… did I use to wear glasses, Shabby?" Harry asked cautiously. He wasn't exactly remembering a detail from his past; it was more of a nagging feeling at the edge of his consciousness. He didn't want Shabby to think that he was remembering. He would run straight to Lucius and tell him. Harry wasn't sure of exactly what would happen if Lucius found out that he had remembered something from his past, and he wasn't so keen on finding out either.

Shabby's eyes lit up. Apparently he'd been expecting a harder question, and was glad that it was a question that he could easily answer. Harry was relieved, because it didn't seem that Shabby was suspicious of the source of the question at all.

"Harry Potter used to wear glasses." Shabby stated happily, nodding his head.

"But I can see perfectly fine," Harry said, perplexed.

At this, Shabby's big eyes turned sad and he looked at his bare feet instead of Harry. He seemed almost ashamed.

"Harry Potter doesn't know?" Shabby whispered. When Harry remained quiet, he shook his head. "Harry Potter should ask Master."

"I think, I think it would be better if you told me Shabby," Harry scowled. When Shabby continued to look away with his lips pursed, Harry tried again. "Please?"

The word shocked Shabby so much that he immediately turned his attention back to Harry.

"Harry Potter… Harry Potter wants Shabby to tell him?" He asked slowly.

Harry nodded eagerly. There was a light in Shabby's eyes, a gleam of pride that made Harry believe that Shabby didn't get many chances to talk and tell his opinions around here. He was grateful when Shabby accepted his request.

"The manor and its grounds, they're covered in a sphere of protective magic," Shabby said as he looked into Harry's eyes to make sure he understood everything. "It was established when the bad wizards in the Ministry of Magic decided that it wasn't safe anymore just to leave us be. Wizards from outside were trying to break in to finish the job that the Ministry didn't want to finish. They wanted to kill Master. To kill Shabby. To kill everyone. Master agreed with the Ministry and let them put up the sphere. As if Master had any other choice!"

Shabby took a deep breath. "The wizards said that the sphere was to keep _us_ safe, but they mostly wanted to keep themselves safe. The bad wizards wanted to sleep better at night, knowing that Master was trapped in here. They locked everyone in here. No one can get out, no one can get in. There are other areas, other safe houses, with spheres like this around them. It is possible to travel to and from those places, but we can travel nowhere else. Nowhere outside the spheres."

Harry couldn't see how this had anything to do with his eyesight, but Shabby seemed so lost in dark memories that he didn't dare point this out. After a few minutes, Shabby's eyes finally focused back on Harry, and he seemed to remember where he was again.

"The sphere… it also has healing abilities. While Harry Potter is in here, he will never be sick. Everyone heals. It sounds like a great thing at first, but Master told Shabby about its sick purpose. It is there to make everyone live as long as possible. The bad wizards want Master to live longer, to suffer longer. Trapped in here is no way to live. Master… I can feel Master's pain, Master's anguish. Master longs to rejoin Mistress Narcissa in the afterlife," Shabby moaned. Harry felt almost sorry for Lucius. No one deserved that. No one deserved the freedom of choice being taken away from them like this.

Shabby started wailing and sniffing loudly while Harry stood at his side awkwardly and patted him on the back. After he was done sniffing into his pillowcase, Shabby turned his tearful eyes onto Harry.

"And so, Harry Potter healed while sleeping. Harry Potter's body healed, although Harry Potter's mind never did. The sphere… it only heals the physical body. The wounds, the sickness, the eyesight. But not the mind. That is why the patients stay in their coma. That is why it's so curious that Harry Potter woke up." Shabby frowned, still sniffing loudly. "Harry Potter shouldn't have been able to wake up."

"But… when I woke up, I couldn't use my muscles properly. I couldn't walk, or even support my weight," Harry said, trying to avert the conversation from why he'd woken up.

"Healthy, but unused," Shabby dismissed easily. He looked at Harry as though seeing him for the first time. There was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He had finally stopped twisting his fingers nervously. It seemed as if he had relaxed around Harry; accepted him. Harry believed it to be because he'd asked Shabby for an explanation instead of going to a wizard, and he felt that Shabby thought there to be a connection between the two of them now. It made him feel hopeful. He needed all the friends he could get.

He glanced at the star strewn sky of a ceiling before leaving his room. After that, he had a hard time trying to pace himself with Shabby. For an elf so small, he moved surprisingly fast. Even though his mind was mainly focused on his feet while he pretty much jogged after Shabby, he still sensed the golden aura. It was more than feeling it. He could _smell _it. It smelled of wet leaves in autumn and fresh peonies in spring. It smelled sweet as cologne, with a bitterness mixed into it. It was right and wrong at the same time. He didn't know how he knew these things, but he knew them. He realized that he was starting to move faster than Shabby. It was true that he could find the dining hall with his eyes closed now that he'd got hold of that heavenly scent, but no one else needed to know that. Trying to fall back into step with the elf, he pushed his mind into giving him some flashback of his old friends and enemies one more time. Surely the scent would trigger something.

When he walked into the dining room, his mind still hadn't thrown anything useful at him. He kept his head down. It was easier to hide his frown than to wear a blank expression and lie. He had a feeling that he'd never been that good at lying anyway. There were just too many emotions inside of him. A sort of wonder at this new life and the mystery behind his old life. The worry about his present conditions and his captors, as well as the growing trust that he felt for Snape. The confusion swarming him every time he thought of Draco Malfoy. His frustration for being trapped this way, and the peacefulness of having fallen asleep under a starry night for even a few hours.

It was amazing that amidst all of this he still had the ability to feel peaceful, but it was true. The stars had a sort of pull on him. He gradually cleared his mind and let the peacefulness fill his whole body. When Lucius Malfoy asked him a question, he steadily looked up and met his gaze, sure that he could get through this.

"I trust that you found yourself right at home in your new room?" Lucius leaned forward in his place at the table to get a better look at Harry.

He was sure that Lucius was trying to emphasise the fact that he'd watched Harry sleep, but he'd already known that. He had already decided to ignore any and all spiteful comments from Lucius, so he just stood there and politely nodded at the blonde man. When invited to do so, he went to sit at the table with seven others; whom he soon learned to be Bellatrix Lestrange, brothers Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, as well as Lucius and Draco Malfoy, Severus Snape, and Peter Pettigrew.

As he looked at his watery soup unappetizingly, he tried to think about what would happen if someone died inside the sphere. Would they stay dead, with their soul trapped inside the sphere forever, unable to ever escape this world? Or would they simply go through the painful experience and be regenerated? Deciding that he would rather not find out the answer, he cautiously lifted a spoon of hot soup to his mouth, blew on it self-consciously, and put it in his mouth.


	8. Safer Grounds

**Author's Notes: **Wow. Okay, so I was not expecting those comments. I needed to acknowledge them so badly that you're going to get this chapter now instead of next week. I feel the need to thank **TheXDarknessWithinXMe** for the amazing reviews that made my week 3 you don't understand how much your comments meant to me or how broadly they're making me smile even now. I never thought I'd ever do something like this, but this chapter is dedicated to you.

As for what this chapter contains… I gave telepathy a shot. However, I don't really know much about it, so if anything you already know on legilimency or occlumency clashes horribly with what you read here, please just go with it, and know that I am deeply sorry if it causes anyone any sort of frustration. *smiles innocently*

**Chapter 8**

**Safer Grounds**

Harry was so caught up in his thoughts that at first he didn't notice anything strange about the soup. He was thinking about how desperately he needed Draco to just _look_ at him for a moment, because he seemed oblivious to Harry's existence. He was sure that after eye contact, something would be triggered somewhere inside, and he'd finally remember a solid memory or a feeling connected with the blonde. He felt as if he was dropped in a play without having had a chance to study the script first. This sense of detachment from everything and everyone around him was distressing. The term 'knowledge is power' seemed the most sensible thing in his confusing world at the moment.

After his first spoon of soup however, he was painfully brought back down to the moment. His stomach clenched painfully and he felt the urge to throw up. The spoon dropped from his careless hands back into the bowl with a splash and his hands curled around his churning stomach. At first he thought that his soup must have been spiked with something, but everyone who had turned to look at him, were doing so not with a triumphant expression, but with a surprised one. He looked at Draco, but he was busy studying Lucius' face. He locked eyes with Snape, bit hard on his lip, and tried to massage his stomach into unclenching. Snape was giving him a steady look, and after a while, Harry lost himself in the dark eyes. Behind the darkness, he saw another world; a happier world. He saw a dark haired boy running around, chasing a red haired girl, with flowers all around them. He yearned to have those days back, to not care about anything anymore, to have the sun shining down on him. He wanted to be free of all these obligations, of this cage that he had trapped himself into. He wanted to have Lily back again.

With a jolt, he dragged himself out of Snape's mind and back into his own body. He realized that all those feelings weren't his, and tried to separate what he felt from what Snape had felt. He hadn't meant to invade Snape's mind. He had only been looking for a way to get away from this pain. When he remembered it, it started stabbing him again, but not as much as before. He looked apologetically at Snape who was glowering at him.

Suddenly, his brain matched that image of a little red-headed girl called Lily with his own image of an older face, with the same dazzling smile and green eyes. He grasped the fact that Snape had known his mother as a child, and he looked with a wonder at Snape. His mind was buzzing with all the questions he wanted to ask.

"Severus? What's going on?" Lucius said, looking from Snape to Harry with a frown. "Is he alright? What happened?"

"I believe that his stomach is not used to processing food. Even soup is too much at this moment." Snape muttered after a few moments.

"Well, what do you suggest we do then? Let the boy starve?" Lucius wondered with a playful smile, doubtless thinking of all the ways he could make Harry suffer more.

"I can prepare some potions that will provide the nourishment he needs until his stomach gets used to digesting food again," Snape drawled, trying to ignore how seriously disappointed Lucius looked. He glared at Harry again, and Harry knew for certain that their future encounters would be filled with discomfort and misery because of all the extra work he was making Snape do.

He felt more out of place than he had before, now that he couldn't eat anything. He sat there awkwardly, playing with his soup.

"So, Harry, still don't remember anything?" Lucius asked Harry, never having had taken his eyes off of him.

Harry looked defiantly into those grey eyes. He ran over the things that he did definitely know about his past. There weren't a lot of things on that list, but they were things that he remembered nonetheless. He remembered his Mother's death by the hands of Voldemort –he looked up at Snape reflexively– and he remembered that he went to a school named Hogwarts, and that Snape was one of his teachers there. He remembered that he had never liked the dark side and especially Lucius Malfoy. He also remembered that he used to wear glasses.

"I don't remember anything," He told Lucius slowly but surely. The details he did remember were private. He treasured them. He wasn't going to share them with anyone, least of all Lucius bloody Malfoy.

Lucius looked at him with hard eyes. He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press the issue and was soon engaged in other conversations. Everything rolled by Harry. The only thing he wanted was to talk to Snape about his Mother. Snape was still looking at him cautiously, as if he wasn't sure what memories Harry had seen in his mind.

Harry felt a presence near his mind. Not a physical presence. It was the same thing he'd felt when Snape was trying to get into his mind, but this time it was a lot less forceful. It was only lurking behind Harry's protective walls, making sure not to disturb him. An image of a gentle knock came into Harry's mind and he realized that Snape was asking for permission to come in. He froze, not wanting Snape anywhere near his thoughts. Ever since he'd felt threatened in that small dark room they first started questioning him in, he'd never lowered his guards. Why should he trust Snape?

The answer came to him easily. He shouldn't. But he had seen into Snape's thoughts, and it was only fair. Besides, he was pretty sure he could block anything he didn't want Snape to see. And after all, it wasn't as if he had many interesting thoughts anyway. Nothing Snape could use against him.

He warily opened a small gap in his mind and peeked through it. He stood back and let Snape enter, ready to close himself off at any moment. To his surprise, Snape didn't go through his thoughts, but instead, maintained a connection between their minds, and drew Harry into his own mind. Harry wasn't sure what was going on, but he could feel Snape's wariness matching his own, and also Snape's interest at this new connection between them. It was strange, sensing Snape feel everything that he was feeling. He decided to try sending words instead of feelings and see what would happen.

_Not as stupid as you look, _he heard Snape mutter in his mind.

He could feel the sarcasm behind it, but there was also something more. Snape was truly surprised. The vision he had of the old Harry was someone less magically able, someone who succeeded not because of their great magical ability, but because of being supported by others and being brave enough to tackle impossible missions. He was marvelling over Snape's images of his old personality when Snape dragged him out of them disapprovingly.

_What did you see?_

Harry immediately knew what Snape was talking about, and eagerly showed him the images of Lily running hand in hand with a much younger version of Snape. _You knew my Mother,_ he said softly.

Snape, lost in his own memories, looked up at Harry sharply. _You remember her?_

Harry paused for a moment, in a dilemma. From what he'd seen in Snape's mind so far, he could say that it would be safe to trust him. Snape seemed sincere in helping Harry. On the other hand, he could have been hiding his higher motives, just as Harry had known he would be able to block any memories he didn't want Snape to know about.

Feeling his hesitancy, Snape showed him something. He showed him what Harry presumed had been the last moments Snape and Harry's past self had had together. It was dark, and the memory felt cold and distant, something that wasn't visited very often. With a shock, he realized that Snape was dying. He was lying on the floor holding onto Harry's hand, whispering urgently. The world got even darker, and darker, and then it slipped away completely. Harry knew that Snape was dead. He couldn't understand it. If Snape had died, how was he still alive now?

_Someone saved me, _Snape murmured. Time went on, and the darkness dragged on. When Harry thought that Snape was just keeping him in the memory for the fun of it, the darkness was slowly penetrated by a dim white light. The light grew stronger, and the feelings of being cold and distant slowly faded away with the darkness. Harry saw a silver stag, circling around the limp body of Snape. He saw a phoenix follow the silver stag and land on the floor besides Snape. It started to sing the most beautiful melody, and Harry was filled with warm feelings and he knew that everything was going to be okay. The phoenix bent over Snape, and Harry saw that tears were falling from its eyes onto gashes and wounds that were all over Snape's body. He saw them slowly heal and close, saw the silver stag pound its hoofs into the ground a few times and then disappear in a wisp of smoke as the phoenix flew off.

The memory left him speechless. He knew beyond a doubt that Snape had never shared it with anyone, nor would have ever planned on _showing _it to anyone. Other than that however, he wasn't sure how this memory was supposed to gain his trust. He felt Snape sigh mentally.

_The silver stag that brought the phoenix to me came from you,_ Snape admitted half-heartedly. Harry could see that it was costing Snape a lot to admit that he had been saved by him, but still wasn't sure that the stag had been from him.

_It could have been from anyone, _he whispered slowly. _How do you know it was from me?_

After a moment, Snape showed him another memory. This was more faded and Harry knew that it wasn't Snape's memory. It was someone else's memory that had been shown to Snape, and so it was harder to concentrate on. Never the less, he could see himself, standing on a frozen lake, surrounded by hooded figures. Because this wasn't a personal memory, there weren't many feelings intertwined with it, but Harry still got goose bumps from those dark hooded figures. He saw himself looking desperate, and had a sudden urge to go to his own help. Snape held him back and whispered, _There's nothing you can do. This moment has already passed. Just watch._

As he watched himself become more desperate with every passing second as the hooded figures closed in on him, he saw silvery wisps of smoke coming off the end of his wand, the same thing that the stag disappeared into. And then, he watched in amazement as the other Harry screamed '_Expecto Patronum!'_ and with a triumphant look on his face, lifted his wand and a silver stag came out the end of it, standing tall and proud and invincible-looking. The stag chased the hooded figures away, and Harry collapsed onto the ice, and the memory faded away.

_Everyone has a different protector, _Snape told Harry softly, careful not to startle him. _Yours was a silver stag. No one else I know alive has that patronus._

The emphasis over _alive _made Harry's curiosity pique and he felt Snape sigh again.

_Your Father, James, he had the same patronus._

Harry felt hollow. So James really was dead after all. He knew Lily was dead, but had thought that James might have survived it. The vision had only showed Lily dying, after all. He wasn't sure how to deal with this new piece of information, and he decided that he didn't want Snape invading his thoughts and feeling all of his emotions when he worked through it.

_What's your patronus? _He asked lightly to change the subject.

_It's a doe, _Snape whispered. There were so many emotions woven into that one sentence that Harry couldn't help but wonder. After a few seconds, Snape finally gave in and said, _Lily's patronus was a doe as well._

Harry looked at Snape uncomfortably. He could feel Snape's emotions towards his Mother, and they were more than just friendly. He could feel that Snape had been in love with his Mother, and still was hurting over her death.

Snape looked back at Harry, his eyes cold and emotionless. But in his mind, Harry could feel how conflicted he really was, how much he really cared for Lily, and how obligated he felt towards Harry.

Once and for all deciding that he could truly trust Snape, Harry threw all caution to the wind. _I remember her death, _He told Snape, and showed him the images he had seen that prompted him to wake up.

Snape went silent and started to go over the last moments of Lily's life, and Harry quietly retrieved himself from his mind, giving him some privacy. He had expected to feel regretful over passing the information, but he felt that Snape somehow deserved those memories more than him. He wasn't sure how he felt about Snape loving his Mother when she was with his Father, but his Father wasn't here right now, and his only ally seemed to be Snape.

_And Draco, _hid mind whispered stubbornly.

_He won't even look at me,_ he bit back, not allowing himself to be too hopeful.

It also felt good that he could have private conversations without Lucius knowing about them. It felt as if he was cheating the system, and he loved it. He left the dinner feeling a hundred times better than he had felt going there. He was grateful to be following Shabby, because he surely would have gotten lost and ran in circles for hours otherwise. His only thought while he changed into pyjamas and before he slipped into sleep was how he could get Draco to talk to him. There was just something there that he couldn't put a finger on, but was eating away at him all the time.


	9. New Bonds

**Author's Notes: **This chapter's mostly about Harry and Lucius. Next one will have Draco in it, I promise. Because my exams are now over, I decided to dismiss consistency and raise the word limit of my chapters. Therefore, the next chapter will be longer, but will also take longer to write.

**Chapter 9**

**New Bonds**

He was awake but he was dreaming. He had no physical body; yet he could hear, he could see. There was a lit fireplace and two men standing in front of it, conversing quietly.

"Why does he continue to remember nothing? It's been days since he's woken up, Severus, _days._ It should have come back to him by now. The shock should have worn off. Never mind the healing properties of the protective sphere, all those doctors we brought to speed up his healing should have healed him mentally as well as physically. _Why does he not remember a thing?_" Lucius bit, gripping his cane hard while looking at the fire grimly.

Snape followed Lucius' gaze onto the dancing flames and prolonged the silence for a while. Harry could have sworn that Snape's eyes flickered to the place where he was standing for a moment before they settled back on Lucius thoughtfully.

"I suspect that he's blocking the memories, Lucius. They're all behind a wall. A very dark and strong one, at that." Snape replied softly.

"How?" Lucius turned his sharp eyes onto Snape. "He was never even half-decent at occlumency. I remember this distinctly because you always seemed to be complaining about it."

Snape's lips turned up in a half-smile. "Yes, he was rubbish at that. I do not know how he managed it."

"Oh, come now, you must have a theory? Your mind is always filled with those," Lucius teased.

"I'm not sure," Snape said reluctantly. "But I believe that his mind did it to protect itself. Maybe the memories were too over-bearing. It simply could not deal. So it blocked them out. Hid the painful memories behind a wall."

"Well that's absurd." Lucius frowned. "Are you telling me that his whole life was nothing but painful memories? There must have been some happy ones there."

"I'm not so sure," Snape murmured. "I think that his memories, even the happier ones, were still laced with worry and misery. I judge that some of the more powerful memories will break through the wall. No wall is perfect, no matter how powerful the protective magic. Some will slip through, and he will know some details of his life. But unless he breaks down the wall, and it will take great magic and will to do that, he will never retrieve his memories."

Snape looked straight into Harry's eyes as he said this. Harry wasn't sure if he was glad or sorry when Lucius changed the subject.

"Then I suppose we can't worry about that now," Lucius said dismissively. He scowled at the ground and after a pause, continued in a hushed tone. "Narcissa hasn't come out of her room for a week now."

Harry had never seen Lucius as distressed as he was at that moment. Every muscle in his body was tense and sadness had settled over his features. He looked much like a wrecked old man and not the intimidating man with the cold eyes that had terrified Harry to his bones.

"She's gone longer than that before," Snape said curiously, wondering what was worrying Lucius so much.

"It's worse this time." Lucius whispered dreadfully. "It feels different. She won't even look at me when I speak to her."

Snape put a gentle hand on Lucius' shoulders. Lucius looked over his shoulder at him with a start and straightened up, all signs of despair leaving him. Snape removed his hand and stared at it as if he wasn't sure why he'd offered it in the first place.

"Draco seems better however," Snape said in a forcefully cheered voice to fill in the awkward gap. "Doesn't he? He showed up for dinner."

"Yes, he hasn't done that in a while, has he?" Lucius muttered distractedly. "It's for _him _though, isn't it? I see it. The way he avoids looking at him. The way he's dying for just a glimpse. His pride gets the best of him. He's a Malfoy, after all."

"He came for Potter?" Snape frowned, confused. "Why would he care?"

"Don't you see it Severus?" Lucius looked into Snape's eyes inquisitively. "He didn't have a care in the world before. He didn't know night from day. Always musing, lost in his day dreams, or out, partying and drinking. He laughed in our faces at our attempts to wake Potter. Said that 'the Golden Boy always turns to disappoint, so why should he change now?' Said that he would be better use dead than alive. Now he suddenly cares enough to protect his life? Cares enough to go back on his own words? To stand up to all of us and say that Potter would be better use kept alive? He cares enough to show up for dinner in a decent manner without throwing snarky comments around?"

Snape raised his eyebrows at Lucius. "We'll see, I suppose, if anything comes of it."

"The Potter boy is nothing if not stubborn. He will refuse Draco, the same way he did the first time they met. Memories or not," Lucius shook his head in denial and looked at Snape reproachfully. "Some things never change."

Snape looked away quickly and the tension in the room rose. Harry wondered what in their past was the cause of this tension while the silence stretched on. Snape looked at him one last time with sadness bright in his eyes, and then the image of the cosy room faded away.

xXx

The next morning, Lucius called Harry to see him. He was sitting in a big and heavy chair with a glass of firewhiskey in his hand and a frown on his face. Harry approached him cautiously. His stomach was twisting itself into knots and his hands were sweaty again. He was so nervous that he didn't even dare pat them dry on his pants.

"Harry," Lucius looked up slowly. "May I call you Harry?"

His tone was so gentle that Harry was shocked enough to nod his head. He had called him Harry at dinner without asking him anyway. He doubted saying no would stop Lucius from doing what he wanted. He wasn't sure if Lucius was drunk or not, but it was clear that he had stayed up all night. They were in the same room that had been in his dream last night, and if he had doubted it before, now he knew for sure that it wasn't just a normal dream. It had really happened, and Snape had wanted him there for a reason, using their mental connection to pull his dream-self through.

"Very well. Harry, let's be honest with each other for a while. Let's put all the lies and games behind that door and look in each other's eyes and speak nothing but the truth until we leave this room." Lucius suggested. As serious as his tone and expression were, Harry couldn't help but be doubtful. Lucius rolled his eyes, something that he definitely would not have done if he had been completely sober.

"Here, I'll go first, how those that sound?" Lucius offered. "I'm very, very tired, Harry. I don't have time for games. Asked me five years earlier, and I would have loved to threaten you and spin you in a circle and make you wear yourself out until you bowed to me and forgot yourself completely. What's the point in that now? You've already forgotten yourself. If you don't remember me, if you don't hate me with a passion, then where's the fun in that? Where's the fun in breaking something that has already been broken?

"I want to get out of here, Harry." Lucius leaned forward in his chair, holding Harry's eyes. "You are my ticket out. Now that you don't remember anything, I could tell you that we used to be very close before this. That you adored me. That you would do anything for me. But that isn't true. And you know it, don't you, Harry?"

Harry searched Lucius' dim eyes. He decided that Lucius was in fact very drunk. But he was tired of lying too. He wasn't sure what life was supposed to be like, but he was certain that it wasn't supposed to be this hard. Filtering every word he said, just to make sure that Lucius wouldn't hear them. Wondering if he was being spied on every moment of every day. Wondering if his thoughts were safe. He didn't want it anymore.

"I remember disliking you. I remember being on opposite sides," He whispered slowly. When Lucius looked at him suspiciously, he hastily added, "I don't remember anything solid. No details… just a feeling."

Lucius dipped his head in what Harry supposed was confirmation of something that he had suspected before. He looked at Harry more soberly.

"Severus said that your memories are most probably put behind a wall by your own mind, trying to protect itself from all the hurt." He looked at Harry sadly, as if pitying him. "You must have had a tough life."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. He didn't want Lucius feeling sorry for him. According to Snape, the wall might stay up all his life, denying him access to those memories. He'd never know if his life had been all that miserable or not. He felt cheated. He knew that he had decided that he'd be better off without those memories, but he wanted an easy option of having them back. It was not fair that everyone seemed to know him so much better than he himself did.

"He also said that some of the most powerful memories might slip through. That you might get a glimpse, or a 'feeling' as you said." Lucius continued. "Is there anything, anything at all, that you remember Harry?"

Lucius seemed as sober as ever as he asked that. Harry wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to confess to the few memories that he did have, but at the same time he didn't want to lie to Lucius. At that moment, he knew why Snape had wanted him to witness the conversation last night. He'd wanted Harry to have some compassion for Lucius. He was telling Harry to trust Lucius, and to end whatever enmity there was between them. He was telling Harry that it would be easier for him this way; that it would be easier for all of them this way. And yet, he found himself reluctant to retell those memories to Lucius. His instincts were screaming at him to distrust this man. His memories were throwing images of the cold expressionless Lucius he had seen on his first days, the one that had been ready to torture and kill him. But that wasn't true anymore. Lucius had been far from cold and distant ever since. He had shown amusement at thoughts of causing Harry pain, disappointment of having such opportunities snatched away, hell, he'd even _teased _Severus last night in Harry's dream that wasn't really a dream. If he'd been serious about hurting Harry, he would have stayed the cold and expressionless man. He wouldn't have so openly showed his feelings, wouldn't have shared them with Harry if he had truly been considered his enemy. He looked into Lucius' eyes now and saw openness and honesty, a desire for reconciliation. He knew that if he'd been his past self, and could just remember why Lucius was to be hated and feared, then maybe things would be different now. As it was, this man had treated him more like a guest than a prisoner, and even if he'd spied on Harry, well Harry had spied on Lucius right back last night. He could hardly blame the man for wanting to know Harry's allegiance.

Besides, he was tired. Tired of a war that was over five years ago but still echoed in every corner. Snape was right. He should let go of an old enmity that he couldn't even remember the reasons behind. If Lucius could forget about them, then so could he. He was supposed to be this forgiving and great saviour after all, wasn't he?

"I remember being on opposing sides," Harry started softly. "But that doesn't matter. What I remember and what I see now are very different. I remember fighting a dark and mad wizard who destroyed homes and families and hope. Now I see that he's dead, but there are still wizards destroying homes and families and hope. It isn't right, the way they're treating you. You all deserve a fair trial. Being suspended like this, your life preserved, made sure to be extended and healed even, is not fair. It's not justice. Treated like nothing. Tucked under protective shields and simply forgotten about. That is not how it is supposed to be. This Ministry, these people who are supposed to be law… no one should be treated this way. I don't remember this, but I _know_ it. I see it, and I know that it's wrong."

By the time he was done, Lucius' smile had broadened to a grin, and soon he was laughing out loud.

"You still care about justice? About being fair?" Lucius laughed heartily. "You're still the same boy that I remember. Memories are not what make a person," he leaned forward until he was sitting at the very edge of his chair, and laid a hand on Harry's chest. "It is the heart," He finished softly.

Lucius smiled to himself and leaned back in his chair, sipping his firewhiskey. It was as if an invisible barrier between them had been broken. Harry still wasn't sure what to think of Lucius, after all, it wasn't the wisest of ideas to trust someone in their drunken moments, but he knew that he wasn't on the verge of killing or getting killed anymore and so far, being honest and open had been worth it.

Seeing that Lucius was paying him no mind and was lost in his own world, he took his leave. He looked for Shabby, but was very much alone in the long corridor. Hoping that his half-asleep brain had registered the many turns and corridors from his room to here in the morning, he set off in the general direction.

He wasn't even remotely surprised when he realised that he was lost. This place was just too darn big with too many corridors and rooms. They all looked alike to him. Long and big and decorated in rich colours.

He opened a door, sure that it was going to lead him to a corridor near his room, and found himself in a huge bedroom, the biggest he had seen yet, with light pouring in through thin, white curtains. Besides the windows, in an armchair, sat the saddest and most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Harry's mouth turned dry as Narcissa Malfoy turned to look at him.


	10. Flashbacks

**Author's Notes: **I know I promised a longer chapter, but I've done this much already and I haven't updated in ages, so have this while I work on the rest. *offers some cookies apologetically as some consolation*

**Chapter Ten**

**Flashbacks**

Harry blinked slowly into clear blue eyes of the pale woman sitting in front of him. He had no doubt that this was Narcissa Malfoy. Who else would resemble Draco Malfoy so closely? Now that he knew that this was Draco's Mother, those silvery eyes of Draco's seemed more akin to the lighter shades of blue of Narcissa's eyes than Lucius' grey ones. He wondered if he'd ever noticed that in his earlier life. He wondered what else there could be about Draco that he had missed before. He also wondered what Lucius had meant about Harry rejecting Draco the first time they had met.

Why did everything that concerned Draco distract and interest him so much? He looked into Narcissa's eyes, contemplating what to say. Neither of them spoke for a long time, but continued to silently study the other. The way that Lucius had spoken about her, Harry had thought that she wouldn't notice her surroundings or even look at him. She hadn't looked at Lucius for days, why would Harry be of any interest to her? And yet, Narcissa's eyes held his; and though no words were exchanged, he felt that she could see his soul.

"Harry Potter," A melodic voice carried to his ears as Narcissa uttered his name softly. "The boy who looked as white as the sheet under him while his mind floated elsewhere. I heard that the dead were walking again, but did not believe. Here you are, alive and well, not looking a day older than I last laid eyes upon you five years ago.

"Tell me, do I look the same? They tell me I haven't aged a day, but they would tell me whatever I wished to hear. You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

Harry looked at her pale golden hair and soft features. He could tell that she had been beautiful, once. The midnight-blue dress she was wearing was a few sizes too big for her and her eyes looked too old for a face so young. The pain and worry over the years had worn her out, this much went without saying. And yet, there was something about her that made Harry want to study her more closely. Something about her reminded him of his own Mother. He could imagine the arms resting gracefully on either side of Narcissa wrapped around a child, protecting him from harm, even dying to save him, the way his Mother had. There was a fire deep in her eyes. It was dim and hard to find, but it was there.

"I don't remember you," he said apologetically. He looked at Narcissa's frail body. He felt a connection with her, and surely she felt it too, or she wouldn't have bothered addressing him. A heavy and sunken feeling took over his body. He followed it to a place far away, a place much colder than here. "I remember… I remember a dark forest. You were there. I think… I think you helped me?" Harry bit down on his lip, trying to clear up the details. "I think… you saved me."

He looked at Narcissa in surprise. She gave him half a smile and turned her attention back to the scenery outside the window.

"Indeed," said Narcissa softly. "I was told that you had lost your memory. I suppose some things never leave us, hm?" A dark shadow fell over her eyes. "Yes. In the end, I remembered what mattered most."

"Draco," She said in answer to Harry's inquiring look. "Draco mattered most. Family is what matters most, always. Not money, not power, not love. Family. Sometimes our family learns to hate us. But it does not matter. We save them anyway."

She turned to look out the window once more, and her eyes lost their focus. Not sure of what to do next, Harry stood there, switching his weight from foot to foot for a while. Deciding that it was probably best to leave quietly, he retreated and closed the door behind him, careful not to disturb anything in his wake. He was secretly glad to be back in the gloomy corridors and finding his way back to his room. There was an aura around Narcissa, around that room, that made him want to stay as far away as possible, while it also called to him and held a dark attraction. He felt conflicted as ever. Some memories were too painful to call forth and mull over, even as eager as he was for any new recollections coming back to him. The darkness in that forest had seemed foreboding and almost impenetrable. He wouldn't want to revisit it any time soon.

Lucius and Narcissa had definitely given him much to think about, and he was anxious to find his bedroom for some shelter from his reality shattering into pieces. As alienated as he felt in that room that was too large and ostentatious for his tastes, at least it was private and he didn't feel as exposed there as he did here wandering the hallways. Besides, he had nowhere else to call his own.

After walking for what seemed like hours, and turning into the same corridors more times than he cared to keep count of, he finally stopped to catch his breath and find a better manner of navigating his way around. There was no way he was going to accidentally stumble upon his room in such a big place. Besides, the corridors here were more white and creamy than the corridors around his room. Those were painted with much warmer colours.

After he forced his mind to focus, he started to take notice of details that he had easily dismissed before. The corridors and rooms near Narcissa were mostly white or in pale colours. The portraits were few but extravagant in decorations and dressings. Each corridor displayed a different branch of the family's ancestors with a different age group. The further away he got from Narcissa's room, the younger the people in the portraits became. Soon, he was only following the portraits and hoping that they would lead him to the centre of the manor. If he took a wrong turn, it would spin him back towards the portraits of the elders who were mostly asleep or busy gossiping and he would retrace his steps and take the other fork.

He ran his hand over the carvings on the wall in his stroll. The manor was beautiful. He tried to imagine growing up here with all this history and splendour surrounding him. It didn't seem as appeasing to him as it should have, however. Hard as he tried, he couldn't fill the hole. It seemed so lonely, growing up here. He had spent half his morning exploring the hallways and he hadn't run into anyone. They all seemed to stay in their rooms, musing about the past and everything they'd lost. He tried to imagine a younger version of Draco, running around and trying to be a kid. It was impossible. There was no childhood here. Behind every corner, in the eyes of everyone in the portraits, there was nothing but pride and an expectation for perfection. There would be no running around in these corridors. There would be no sweet songs filling the rooms as the smell of waffles came from the kitchens. In the light of all this loneliness and restriction, he greatly cherished his own childhood with his parents, short as he feared it had been, in a house that had been no doubt much, much smaller than here. No wonder Draco had seemed so distant and careless.

Harry was filled with a yearning so strong that he couldn't identify it at first. It was so forceful that he wanted to find Draco this very second and tell him everything he was feeling. He wanted to show Draco that it didn't have to be so hard, so hollow. He wanted to show him how better it should have been, how much more freedom of action he should have been given.

Those cold grey eyes flashed in his mind and his motivation died with them. Draco hadn't even looked at him. He hadn't even talked to him. What would he say to those eyes to turn them any brighter? He didn't even know Draco, not really. He yet had to remember anything related to the blonde from his past life.

Focusing back on the portraits and his way, he pushed all irrelevant thoughts out of his mind. A few minutes later, with a sigh of relief, he finally found the centre of the manor. This was where he'd had dinner, or at least had meant to have dinner before the soup clenched his unready stomach and killed his appetite. The dining area was decorated in darker colours, more grey, black, and dark purple. He looked back at the corridors he had come from. They were positioned east of here. The room that Lucius had summoned him to and the room he had found Narcissa in were somewhere in there.

The north wing mostly displayed dark green or blue colours in which Harry did not remember ever setting foot. The south wing was definitely where the hospital was; it was decorated in the pale blue colour that Harry had woken up to. The west wing had almost no specific colour theme. There was everything from creamy colours to rich red and brown ones. He was thankful to remember these corridors. He recalled being awed by all the colours, even when his mind was occupied elsewhere. Quickening his pace, and feeling exhausted from searching the manor, he started down the west wing. The further he walked, the surer he became that this was the right path. He quickened his pace, seeing the end of what felt like a longer journey than it had been. There was the small cupboard Snape had dragged him into to advise him on playing dumb. Those were the high windows he had praised. And around the corner, there was the wooden door with the strange carvings marking his bedroom.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He felt mentally exhausted and it was still only the early hours of the morning. Snape, Lucius, and Narcissa had all given him strings of his old life back; but none of it made much sense. They were suspended; he couldn't see their relation to him or to each other. He felt so empty inside. No solid memories. No feelings. No ties to bond him to this body; to this life. It had been so much easier in the darkness. No need to think about the hard things. No need to try and wrap his head around everything.

He enfolded his arms around his waist and lost himself in the emptiness. Did he really want to remember? What he'd found of his old life so far didn't sound very appealing. Could he put it behind him and start over? Or would he forever wonder which one was the real Harry? Was he the old and rash version that was surrounded with friends and blessed with good fortune, the way that Snape had seen him? Or was he the confused and lost newer version that could pour magic out of his fingertips? Did the two even meet somewhere along the line, or were they completely different people, unable to coexist within the same body?

He pressed down harder on his stomach. This feeling of emptiness wasn't so bad. It was quiet, peaceful. He could learn to live with it. It reminded him of when he was floating in the darkness with no worries or care. Maybe it wasn't so bad to have a chance at starting over, not being tied down to anything. He moved closer to the window and looked outside at the blue sky and the clouds scattered there. He had been as free as a cloud once. Floating around, existing without thinking of the meaning of existence. His eyes wandered down to the endless green fields. It was hard to imagine that somewhere out there was a barrier, separating this world from the world outside. As far as he could see, there was nothing out there. Trees here and there, flowers, a lake, and some cabins. He didn't feel trapped. Maybe there was no invisible barrier after all. Maybe it was all a lie to keep him within bounds.

Suddenly, that was all he could think about. He wondered if the barrier really did exist. Even if it did, would it keep him inside, or did it only work on people that were not supposed to be in comas forever? But if he did get out of here, where would he go? He didn't know anyone; he didn't remember anything.

Nevertheless, he had to know. He had to know if he was a prisoner or only a guest.

It didn't seem like anyone was taking notice of him. As far as he could tell, they had left him alone for now, lost in their daydreams or maybe asleep. If he was quick, and lucky, maybe no one would even realize he was missing before he came back. After all, no one had told him that he was to stay in his room or inside the manor.

Even though he kept telling himself that, he was still nervous and expecting to be stopped every step of the way. He quietly made his way back to the centre of the manor, feeling foolish for being secretive about something he probably had no reason to be. _Better safe than sorry, _he told himself as he tiptoed across the dining hall to the big double doors. Half-expecting it to be locked, he pushed down on the handle. It swung open.

With a big smile on his face, he breathed in the fresh air and squinted against the bright sunlight. The blue skies were even bluer than they had been from behind the window. There was a nice breeze and Harry felt thrilled to be out here. For once, he was doing something for himself, not following anyone's orders or worrying about what would happen to his life. All the weariness and exhaustion left him. Trotting down the stairs, he felt the sun warm up his skin. He didn't know where he was headed, but he found it hard to care. Walking in a path that he assumed to be a straight line away from the manor seemed good enough. He wished that he knew how to whistle, because that's how good he felt right now. He tried to put his lips together and blow through them, but that didn't exactly work. Needing to let out all his pent up emotions someway or other, he broke into a jog which soon turned to full-out running. It felt amazing. The wind was rushing against him and it cleared his head. The pain in his chest from this sudden exercise was nothing compared to how great he felt. He felt like he could finally think clearly.

He pushed himself harder. Straightened his back, lengthened his strides, and ran as fast as he could. Yet, the speed wasn't enough. He wanted to go faster. He knew that he could, but he didn't remember how. It was hard to dwell on the negative for long, however. All he could see in his head was the image of a falcon flying so fast that it was only a blur of colours in the wind. He felt invincible; as if he could do anything. He could take the world with his hands tied behind his back.

His magic fluttered and sung happily around him, revelling in the freedom.

After a while, he slowed down to enjoy his surroundings. The stitch in his chest was a welcome pain. He was feelingagain. How could he have thought to prefer emptiness over this? Over life? His muscles were contracting pleasantly as he walked further away from the manor without once looking back. He forgot where he was or why he was, just that he was. The Earth buzzed softly under his feet and the magic swelled in his body, humming enjoyably under his skin. He was a part of it all. He could see the big picture, the whole world, everything moving together, everything vibrant, never stopping. So why should he? Why should he stop?

The answer appeared right in front of him in the form of an invisible layer. There was indeed a barrier enclosing the manor and its surrounding lands. Beyond it, the land stretched on. There was no difference. The grass wasn't greener on the other side. But it was separated by a buzzing and vibrating layer of energy, preventing anyone from crossing. Harry put his forehead against it, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply.

"You don't want to do that," A voice mused. "All that residue energy might zap you into dust."


	11. Behind the Mask

**Author's Notes: **Sorry for the wait. Here's chapter eleven :)

**Chapter Eleven**

**Behind the Mask**

Harry turned around, not believing his ears. His eyes fell upon that self-satisfied smirk and he knew that he'd heard it right.

"What do you care what happens to me?" he asked, a lump forming in his throat. He didn't know why talking to Draco was so hard. He could feel the blood rush to his face. _Pull yourself together,_ he told himself irritably.

"You're right, I don't care. Go right ahead and blow yourself up into a billion pieces," said Draco sarcastically and pointed to his robes. "And get dust on my perfectly clean outfit."

There was a strange gleam in his blue-grey eyes and Harry knew that this was about more than dirtying an outfit. He bit his lip and didn't say anything, afraid of saying the wrong thing. The world was still spinning madly around him; he had no idea what the right thing to say or do was anymore. Maybe even when his memory was firmly in place he hadn't had a clue about these things, but right now, he felt more lost than ever.

"Hey, breathe, it was only a joke," reassured Draco anxiously. "I wasn't threatening you or anything."

"I didn't think you were," replied Harry. He found that it wasn't so hard to grin at Draco's worried expression. Maybe he wasn't so lost in this conversation after all. "Do people normally think you're threatening them when you make a joke?"

"I thought maybe you were still thinking of the old me, the way I was when we were younger…" reminisced Draco. "Back then, all we did was threaten each other."

Harry looked away uncomfortably. All the clues he'd gotten so far had pointed towards this; that there was enmity between Draco and him. So why did he feel such a strong pull towards Draco's golden aura? He could feel it even now. He could see the wispy golden smoke skirting around both of them, pulling them towards each other.

"Oh, that's right, you don't remember that, do you?" asked Draco. Harry thought he detected a note of regret, but he could have been imagining it. "It doesn't matter anyway. I'm not that person anymore."

"It's okay," said Harry with a small smile. "I've been told that I'm not the same person either."

The warm smile that he got in return made him melt inside.

"That's true," replied Draco with a smirk. "You used to be such a prat."

"Oi!" objected Harry. He couldn't take it to heart though; the playful smile on Draco's lips made it all nothing more than a harmless joke.

Looking round, he realized that Draco was holding something, a broom, next to him. He wondered how he hadn't seen it until then.

"What's that then?" He asked curiously.

"A Firebolt," replied Draco confusedly. "What else would it be?"

Harry felt himself go red. It sounded as if he should know what a Firebolt was supposed to be, but his head was blank. He bit his lip again and looked at the tree that was a few feet from them, trying to think of a way to change the subject.

"You… you don't remember?" asked Draco slowly. "You don't even remember what a stupid Firebolt is?"

Harry looked back at Draco in surprise. There was a fire of anger burning in the eyes that had been smiling just a moment ago, and he couldn't see the reason behind it. Draco knew that he had no memory of his past life.

"That was your dream. What you did to get away from everything. Flying was everything to you. How can you not remember that, Harry?" said Draco desperately as he put his hands on Harry's shoulders, his fingers biting down on the bones. It wasn't exactly painful, but it was definitely uncomfortable.

Harry tried to step back, but the invisible barrier was right behind him. He felt confused and scared. He didn't really know what Draco was saying anymore, he just wanted to get out of this place. He hated being cornered like this and it wasn't his fault if he couldn't remember what a Firebolt was. He tried to struggle out of Draco's hold, but it was impossible. He felt so weak and breakable.

"Let go," complained Harry helplessly. He tried to wriggle free again, but Draco's hands wouldn't budge.

"Fight back," said Draco through gritted teeth.

Harry looked at Draco with confusion swimming in his eyes. Why would he fight? He didn't want to hurt someone who had persuaded Lucius to keep him as a guest instead of a prisoner.

"Fight back! Why aren't you fighting back?" exclaimed Draco desperately. "You're not Harry anymore!"

With a last searching look into Harry's eyes, Draco let him go and mounted his broom. Harry blinked and the Firebolt shot into the sky, zooming out of view. He fell to his knees, breathing heavily. He had no idea what had just happened, but at least he now knew that Draco had meant flyingin a literal sense. He looked at the spot that Draco had been standing just a moment ago, wishing wistfully that he could rewind the conversation and fix it.

But even stronger than that, was a yearning he'd felt before when he'd been running through the green field. He wanted to fly. He simply knew that it was a part of him. The falcon he'd seen in his head, soaring through the wind. It was a missing puzzle piece, falling into place without effort. He wished he could call Draco back, but there was no way.

A voice in his head jolted him back to his feet.

_Stop feeling sorry for yourself and come see me in my study._

It took him a moment to realize that it had been Snape's mental voice. The distance between them had distorted the voice and made the words harder to work out, but an image of the study flashed into his head as clearly as if he was standing there and looking at it in person.

_I don't like being summoned like this, _He shot back, making sure to communicate how annoyed he really was by the invasion of privacy.

_Don't be a prat, _was all the answer that he got in return.

He put his hands in his pockets and pouted all the way back to the manor, hearing the echo of 'prat' from Draco's lips. It was as if all the spirit had been drained out of him. The feelings of wanting to whistle and run around had left him as abruptly as they had come. He felt angrier with himself than with Draco because he had raised his expectations so high that it was due to disappoint him. If they had been on opposing sides before the war, why should anything be different now?

_Because he stood up for you, _whispered a small voice in his head.

Harry made sure to bury it deep and shut it completely out.

xXx

"Shut the door behind you," echoed Snape's voice. After the loud slam of the door, he continued with a sigh, "… quietly."

Harry felt a bit sorry for slamming the door, but his spirits rose a little higher. He was in a huge, dark room. It was filled with row after row of bookshelves stacked high and filled with old books. As he followed Snape's voice, the bookshelves disappeared and tables and cauldrons took their place. The room had seemed much smaller from the outside. Harry continuously was awed by the manor. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to think of it as home. It didn't seem as if he had any other options.

"Will you stop sulking and get here already?" grunted Snape.

_STOP WANDERING AROUND IN MY HEAD, _blasted Harry.

"Hey! That was completely unnecessary!" complained Snape as he put a hand to his head and frowned. "If you weren't so absorbed in your own pool of misery, you'd realize that I can't help knowing how you feel, the same way that you can know how I feel without meaning to."

Harry stopped at the table in front of Snape. He had to admit that Snape was right. He could feel the headache that was burning through Snape. It felt distant and impersonal, as if a far memory. But he knew that Snape was its source.

"How's that possible?" he asked curiously, forgetting about feeling dejected.

"I don't know," shrugged Snape. "I guess the mental link was stronger than I realized."

"But I don't want to know how you feel every minute of every day," protested Harry. Snape glared at him and Harry looked back apologetically. "And I guess neither do you. Is there any way to stop it?"

"You can either put your energy into keeping up the wall between us twenty-four seven," replied Snape matter-of-factly, "Or you can ignore it and learn to live with it."

"Great," mumbled Harry as he played with a splinter on the wooden table.

Snape scowled and put some potions in front of him. "Drink up. They're all you can stomach right now. They should give you the necessary nourishment until we slowly get you used to something more solid."

As he first suspiciously sniffed each potion and then slowly drank them, he explored the bond between their minds. He could feel something connecting their minds together, lifting the barrier that should have been there. It was as if their minds were ordinarily on separate frequencies, and now this bridge was set between them to bring them onto the same level. He tried to close the bridge, lift it, severe it. Nothing happened. Snape winced and glowered at him.

"You need more power than that to close the bridge. It should have closed on its own. I don't understand why it's staying open. It's impossible to maintain it open for this long… the lingering magic in you is higher than I suspected. It's continuously feeding energy into the bridge and sustaining it."

"But in your memories, I never had this much power, this much magic. Where did it come from?" Asked Harry quietly.

There was a pause in which Snape studied him carefully. Harry finished the last drops of the potion. He didn't feel as nauseated as he had after having soup, but his stomach still churned uncomfortably. It grumbled as though something was boiling inside it, or spinning fast. He frowned, trying to ignore it.

"I'm not really sure," Snape finally replied. "You did always have a great deal of magic inside of you, as does every wizard. Not everyone learns how to properly channel all of it, so most of this magic stays inside, unused. When you slipped into a coma and were placed under the healing sphere of the manor, your body would have started healing. Maybe because the sphere couldn't heal you mentally and bring you out of the coma, it put its efforts into strengthening your magical core and hoped that you'd snap out of the coma that way."

"If that's true, then how come no one else is waking up? Why only me?"

"Like I said, I don't know. Maybe they didn't find reason enough to wake up. You said that Lily was the reason you woke up… her and James," Snape added with disdain. "Maybe they reached out and helped you find your way. Maybe your subconscious was stronger and it jolted you awake. It could have been anything."

Harry was quiet for a few minutes, thinking. Snape left him alone and continued to stir his potion. As hard as he was trying to stay out of Harry's way, Harry still knew that he wouldn't be able to help knowing what Harry was thinking of. All that helplessness filled his whole body. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't force his mind into remembering too fast, in case it turned out too damaging. He couldn't leave the manor and was stuck here with all the dark wizards, even though he had been on the other side of the war. He couldn't even remember if he had any other family or friends outside. He couldn't maintain a normal conversation with Draco. And now he had this mental link with Snape that was never-ending. He imagined all his problems into one big dark ball of energy. It started as this huge sphere, but he compressed it more and more until it became much smaller. When it couldn't get any more compressed, he imagined a great blue ball of positivity surrounding the dark negative one. He imagined it consuming the dark sphere until it completely vanished from view. It made him feel better. When he let it all go, there was a weak breeze in the closed-off study that made Snape look up with surprise.

"What did you do? I can't feel it anymore," Said Snape hesitantly.

"Feel what?" Asked Harry with a frown.

"The bond! I can't feel the bond anymore," Snapped Snape.

Harry frowned. He tried to focus on Snape and feel what he was feeling, but Snape was right. He couldn't feel it anymore. All that was left in his mind was himself. After making sure that they had full privacy once more, they stood there, smiling broadly at each other.

When he left the study, he felt as though he'd won a battle. Maybe all this extra magic wasn't so bad after all, if he could learn to bend it to his will. He spent his afternoon alone, trying to learn how to control the magic. Sometimes it seemed to be overflowing, running everywhere and doing things more forcefully than it should have, and other times, it stayed silent and sleeping inside, doing nothing at all. By the time it was getting dark out, he was exhausted and sweaty, but felt accomplished. He'd managed to lift his bedside lamp a few inches into the air and set it back down without shattering it in the process.

Shabby brought him his nourishment potions for dinner. Not having anything to do, he opened the balcony and went outside to enjoy the fresh air with a better mood this time. He didn't feel imprisoned anymore. The invisible barrier still hummed around him somewhere far away, but it didn't have much effect on him anymore. If he could harness the magic inside him, maybe he could find a way of getting around the sphere too. Altogether, everything was looking up.

Everything except Draco. He wasn't sure where to find him, or what to say if he did. He was sure that he would never be the same Harry as before. If that's all Draco wanted from him, then he couldn't give it to him. Draco was looking for someone who didn't exist anymore.

xXx

When he woke up, it was the middle of the night. The curtains were drawn and it should have been impossible to see anything in the absolute dark, but the golden wisps of smoke twirling around the room were light enough. He could easily see Draco leaning against the wall, watching him quietly.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked slowly as he rubbed his eye. He could see Draco frown. He remembered too late that he shouldn't have been able to see anything in this dark. He slowly sat up when Draco didn't answer. "I know you're there, Draco."

"Right," Answered Draco slowly, bidding for time. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was just thinking about this morning."

Harry waited for further explanations that didn't follow. He could tell that Draco was trying to say something, but it was hard for him to get it out. It made him smile, knowing that he wasn't the only one having trouble communicating. Neither one of them was used to this. If they'd only been enemies in the past, then this should be breaking new ground for them both. It made him feel a little less lonely and strangely empowered. Draco was trying to apologize, and so he wouldn't rush him. He could wait all night for this. He had a feeling that Draco didn't get around to apologizing much and he was looking forward to enjoying it.

"Of course, I could have thought about it in my own room," Draco said, frowning deeper. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

Harry felt a little sorry for him. It couldn't have been easy, coming here in the middle of the night, preparing himself to apologize. But he wasn't going to jump in and make it easy for Draco, he had felt awful that morning and it had been all his fault.

"look, all I wanted to say is that I know you're having trouble remembering," Draco rushed on. "And I'm sorry for pushing you, alright?"

"Alright," Said Harry quietly. He didn't know what else to say. He couldn't promise Draco that everything would go back to normal or even that he'd fully remember everything after a while. "You could have waited till morning, though. I wasn't that heartbroken over it."

Draco threw a murderous look his way that was clearly visible to Harry even though Draco didn't know it.

"I was up. It's done now. You can go back to your beauty sleep," Snapped Draco.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Said Harry, not wanting to push him away. Draco paused on the way out and looked back, a softer look in his eyes.

"Right," He murmured before leaving, his golden aura gently twisting around him.

Harry tried and failed to go back to sleep for a long time after that, his heart was beating too fast for any sleep. Draco had actually come and apologised, all on his own. This was progress. Maybe they could even give a shot at being friends, if Draco could accept him the way that he was now. After tonight, Harry believed that that was more likely than he had originally thought. Behind his mask, Draco was a completely different person.


	12. Fly Away

**Author's Notes: **I realize that I used to update faster when I had exams to study for :3 I guess it's easier to procrastinate when you've got important stuff to do.

**Chapter Twelve**

**Fly Away**

The first time he held a broom in his hands was the single most exciting moment since he'd woken up from the darkness. He could feel it buzzing against his skin, as if anxious to take flight. Against the golden light of the sun pouring over it, it seemed flawless.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Asked Draco uneasily, taking his moment of silence as a sign of hesitation.

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco's worried expression and lifted his leg over the Firebolt.

"Just because Snape told you that I am still disoriented and lost since all my memories are locked up to make you come and apologize to me," grunted Harry, "doesn't mean I can't handle a Firebolt."

Draco scowled at him, but before he could snap back about no one having the power to make him do anything, Harry kicked off into the sky. His startled laughter trailed all the way back to Draco and forgetting to hold onto his frown, soon Draco was smiling too.

The feeling of exhilaration was overbearing. Harry had left his stomach somewhere back on the ground and his heart was beating twice as fast. It didn't make him feel scared to be so high up, on the contrary, he felt even safer here out of reach. This was his territory. His body remembered things that his mind didn't and he dove low enough that the grass rustled underneath him from the gentle wind that he was raising, and then soared high enough that Draco seemed like a speck of dust.

He did two rounds around the manor, laughing at how small everything looked and how exhilarating flying was. He raced against the wind, diving so sharp and fast that he heard Draco shouting at him in concern. At that moment, nothing else mattered. His mind was wiped clean of any worry or sleep deprivation. It didn't matter that he was closed off from the outside world against his will. It didn't matter that in the manor everyone and everything was depressing, or that he could still feel Draco's fingers biting into his shoulder blades as he shook him and shouted into his face. He forgot that he hadn't taken any of Snape's nutrition potions because they made him nauseous and also because a small part of him enjoyed feeling so empty inside.

He shamelessly poured the potions down the toilet when he was alone. At first he had felt a twinge of guilt, but after remembering that the sphere was going to keep him alive either way, he didn't think twice about it now. No one seemed to notice, and he was sure that as long as he drank enough water it would sustain him just enough. For some reason, the emptiness, combined with the feeling of doing something he wasn't supposed to do, made him feel so much better. It felt as if he could conquer that, then nothing else could stand in his way. The feeling of being empty was so filling and the control it gave him was quite addictive. Maybe it was because he felt so void of memories that his body wanted to be the same way. Whatever the reason, it gave him some satisfaction. Not as much as flying did, of course.

After he found out how much he loved flying, it soon became his favourite pass time. After a lot of arguing and convincing and some dark looks, Shabby agreed to keep Harry's Firebolt in his bedroom for him so that Harry could simply open the door to the balcony and take off flying whenever he felt like it, night or day. It helped him a lot, considering the many nightmares and restless nights. It would take his mind off things. No one ever bothered to ask him how he was doing, not even Draco. They all had their own issues to ponder over. However, with Draco, it was different. He didn't need to ask because he could see the darkness in Harry. He could see how pissed off Harry was about being cut off from his memories, how torn he was between wanting to know his past and starting anew. Giving him the gift of flying made Harry agree to forget about their fight from before and they started over on a clean slate. He could see things in Draco too, things that didn't need pointing out. Traits embedded in him from a young age. He could see how Draco grabbed opportunities so that he could hold something over people's head and make them do what he wanted. Especially with Lucius. The two of them were on an endless mission to get the upper hand on the other. Harry found it mildly amusing and slightly alarming. It didn't seem like they would stop at anything to get what they wanted. A trait that seemed to be synonymous with the name Malfoy.

Narcissa continued to stay in her room, however. Harry never mentioned her to Draco, because as much as Draco loved going on and on about how Lucius deserved to be put in his place, he always carefully circled around saying a word about his Mother.

When he thought back to the time that he had been afraid of walking up to Draco and talking to him, it made him laugh. It seemed so easy now. It was funny how now that he had nothing to do and nowhere to be, time stretched out and things that had seemed so important before lost their focus. He now knew why Lucius had been so quick to end their enmity. It simply was pointless to hold onto such small grudges when you were constantly faced with the bigger picture.

Also, having all the time in the world, he came to know the real Draco pretty quickly. Behind all the tough talk and subtle manipulations, Draco couldn't help but protect those he cared about, his list including even Lucius. He was a great person to have around. Despite being annoying at times by using constant sarcasm, he could also use it to make the most awkward situations more comfortable. And although they never talked about it, after he'd screamed at Harry that one time, he'd become so much more protective of him and assumed it was his responsibility to see to it that Harry got everything he wanted.

Soaring through the sky even made Harry's newest sense of imprisonment almost bearable. Draco had offered to take Harry out shopping, in a shopping mall that was engulfed in another protective circle meant for use of dark wizards and only accessible by floo, for a change of scenery and something fun to do, but Snape had said that it was too soon for Harry to leave the manor and that they couldn't afford for him to get himself lost. Also, with a more serious tone, he had said that even when Harry was ready to leave the manor and going to one of the other sealed-off areas in Britain, he would still have to conceal himself and not reveal who he was because no one knew that he was awake now and with so many people holding grudges against the one that had ended Voldemort, it would be an 'unnecessary and reckless risk to take.'

Draco had argued with Snape and then had tried giving him the silent treatment, but having had taken a trip through the man's head, Harry was sure of Snape's nerves of steel and knew that he wouldn't bend.

However, flying too much did result in sore muscles and sunburn that was irritating no matter how fast it healed, and the same sceneries under the invisible barrier that was vast but still posed some constriction nonetheless did become mundane after relentless hours of losing himself in the greenery. No matter how high he flew, he still couldn't see past the green hills. It remained his favourite pastime, but not the only one.

After searching through the manor from the after results of getting lost a handful of times, he had found the biggest room of all. He would have walked past it without looking back if it hadn't been for the smell. He had followed the dusty smell of wood, old books and leather that had teased his nostrils into the old room that had turned out to be the biggest study he had yet stumbled upon in the manor. There were rows upon rows of bookshelves, stacked full of many different varieties of books. There were the cheap paperbacks amongst the old thick leather books in all shapes and sizes. He found a book in the shape of a dragon that smelled like burnt paper and smouldered at the edges.

It soon became his regular destination. Every time he let his feet wander and take him to a new part of the manor, afterwards, he would somehow find his way back here. He would nestle himself in an armchair near the fireplace or sit on the large windowsill that was covered with soft pillows and lose himself in the incredible worlds that the books took him to. He even found his own name in the contents of a book, promising a full history. After looking at the intricate twist in the letters of his name for a while, he closed the cover and set it aside. He never went back to read it. It wasn't as if he had the time to consider reading it either, there were so many stories he was tempted to read, so many histories he wanted to learn about, and so many spells and potions he wanted to read of. After finding his way to the magical spells section, he never wandered away to any other section again. The books glued him to the edge of his seat and he would take them with him to read wherever he went. Under a tree outside, on his bed, in the study, over by Snape's side as he brewed potions, and even while Draco chatted away about his newest plan to ensure Lucius' downfall.

"Where's my wand?" he asked one day as they were sitting outside enjoying the fresh air and warm sun, cutting in Draco's sentence about how important quidditch really was and that it was the truly greatest deprivation they were suffering from while being sealed off from the bigger wizarding world.

Draco glared at him disapprovingly for jumping in with something that was so irrelevant, but shrugged easily and fell into the new subject. Harry couldn't help but smile. He could see that it was hard for Draco to stay mad at him even when he had clearly not been listening to a word he'd been saying.

"Probably outside in a museum somewhere," he replied with a smirk. "No, really, we don't have it," he continued more seriously after Harry scowled at him. "I guess if you really want to try one of those spells you've been reading of, then you could… you could use my wand," he finished gravely, offering his wand reluctantly.

"No, that's alright," replied Harry and grinned at the look of relief on Draco's face. "I just wanted to know. I don't really need it anyway."

"Well, I can ask Father to force Snape into letting us take you out and get you a new wand. I would have hated to have to live without a wand." said Draco thoughtfully. "Why didn't you say anything before? It would have been a great argument-winner with Snape. No wizard should have to live without a wand, if he's old enough. And you certainly are, memory or not."

"No, really, it's fine," said Harry quickly. He still hadn't told anyone about magic floating out of his fingertips whenever he needed it to. Snape had warned him not to, but that had been a long time ago, before he knew that it wasn't him against the household. Now he fairly trusted Draco, and knew that Lucius couldn't be bothered to do anything to him with Draco so loyally on his side. Whether he liked it or not, he was part of the manor now. He was part of this family. The doubtful look on Draco's face made him want to spill the real reason and tell him about his new-found magical abilities, and so he threw away all caution and got to his feet, dragging Draco along with him.

"Where are we going?" Asked Draco confusedly.

"My room!" Replied Harry vaguely as he ran towards the manor.

"Er, why?" Panted Draco behind him as he started to slow down and resist Harry's pull.

"Just come, will you? There's something I want you to see."

When they reached his bedroom, Harry finally slowed down and let go of Draco's hand. Draco tried to rub some feeling back into his hand and jumped onto Harry's bed, muttering something about people being too impatient.

"No, get up," motioned Harry. "Go to the window and lock it."

"As highly amused by this as I am," replied Draco dryly as he got up slowly and made his way towards the high windows, "Is there a point to all this?"

Harry ignored him and his glare and waited a few feet away.

"Okay, lock the window, and make sure you can't open it."

"I really don't understand what you're trying to do here," complained Draco. He locked the window and tried it. Harry grinned widely, loving that not knowing what was going on was piquing Draco's curiosity so much.

"Okay, now watch my hands," he said slowly as he stepped closer to the window, placing his finger tips on the glass.

He envisioned himself on that first day, how trapped he had felt, how badly he had wanted to get away. In his mind, he closed himself off, trapping himself in a tight corner, making himself feel desperate for a way out. He pressed on the window slowly, his heart beating loudly against his chest. A cool breeze brushed against his face. He opened his eyes slowly and with triumph saw that the window was open. He looked round at Draco who was watching his hands with a gaping mouth.

"How did you… it was locked, and then…" he looked up at Harry with amazement and shock bright in his eyes.

Harry grinned at him, not saying anything.

"Something blue crept out of your fingers and I heard the click of the window unlocking… but it's impossible!" exclaimed Draco, taking a step closer and enclosing Harry's hands in his own. "Your hands are a bit warmer, but not really. How did you do that?"

"It's protective magic, I think. It happened when I first woke up and felt trapped. I wanted so badly to get away and it came to my aid." He explained slowly and shrugged dismissively. "It's no big deal."

"No big…" Draco muttered. "Harry, why didn't you ever tell me? This is amazing! We have to see what the extent of it is. Maybe you can learn to control it and it won't be just defensive anymore."

"I didn't tell you because Snape warned me not to tell anyone, back when Lucius still wanted me as a prisoner. I guess it just never came up?" finished Harry lamely and received a glare from Draco to which he replied with a sheepish smile. "And I have been trying to learn how to control it. I can lift stuff now. Only small things, but it's better than when I started," he continued with a shudder. "Shabby was starting to come into my room every day with a new lamp, he was so sure that I would have broken it beyond repair."

"Wait, Snape knew? Snape knew and I didn't?" stated Draco with hurt. Harry bit his lip and tried to look as sorry as he could. "You better make this lamp lifting business worth it," Draco finished with a resigned sigh.

With an apologetic look at Draco, Harry stepped in front of his bedside lamp and concentrated hard. He saw the image of a Firebolt lifting into the air, not zooming up the way it usually did, but rising slowly and elegantly. At first nothing happened. He concentrated harder, willed the lamp to lift and made it so that it would rise into the air as if pulled by a string. The lamp started to rise steadily over the table and Draco gasped with surprise. Harry wanted to turn back and beam at him, but held onto his concentration. After the lamp was a foot above the bedside table, he envisioned the Firebolt once more, this time descending gently onto the padded grass. The lamp obediently followed the vision, slowly coming back to rest onto the table, exactly where it had been before, with a soft thump that was barely audible.

Harry turned around and smiled widely at Draco, who was still staring at the lamp, not believing what he had witnessed.

"Amazing," he whispered again, finally taking his eyes off the lamp and looking up at Harry. "Now we really do have to go out. We have to celebrate!"

"Celebrate what?" asked Harry exasperatedly as he followed Draco out of the room.

"Er, that you didn't break another lamp for Shabby to have to replace!" replied Draco after a short pause.

"It's not like he throws them out," argued Harry. "He just takes them and uses magic to repair them."

"Yes, see, you saved him so much trouble. That's enough cause for celebration in my book!" chimed Draco. He sprinted across the hallways and went straight to Snape's study, in which he was faced with an expressionless face that clearly would not budge no matter what the situation.

Harry followed Draco back from Snape's study, listening to him complain about how unnecessarily strict Snape was being and that he felt as if he was eight years old again. Harry couldn't help but smile in the dark, being truly happy and completely free of the darkness for the first time. It didn't matter to him if he had to stay in the manor, not as long as Draco was here with him. He wasn't sure how Draco had wormed his way into his heart so fast, but he was his best friend and Harry trusted him absolutely. He hardly even remembered anymore that they had once been enemies. What did that matter when Draco looked at him with that open expression and plotted ways to get revenge on Snape? He was the only one Draco trusted so openly as well, and that was more than enough.


	13. Unforgivable

**Author's Notes: **Slightly longer chapter at your service.

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Unforgivable**

That night, Harry had another vivid dream. He felt weightless, almost as if hanging onto reality by a thread. He knew he was asleep, but he was wandering the rooms in the manor, the same way he had that night when Snape had wanted him to witness his conversation with Lucius. But that night, Snape had been the one conjuring him there secretly. Now that their mental connection was disbanded, Harry couldn't see how this was happening again, or why. There was a faint aching inside him; he was tired down to his bones. He was about to let go and drift back into natural sleep when he heard the noise. It was somehow wet and desperate, if a noise can be desperate. There was also a fine panting. He was curious enough to follow its trail with renewed energy, tiredness forgotten.

Same as the last time when he had been spying on Snape, everything around him was in sharper focus and the things further away from him were harder to work out. So as he moved closer to the sound, he realized that he was in a bedroom. He'd never been here before, but from the decorations, he was sure that it was inside the manor. There was a door a few feet in front of him, slightly ajar. Light was pouring in from under and sides of it, and the strange noise was definitely coming from inside that room. The closer that he got, the more intrigued the sounds made him. There was a creeping feeling in the back of his stomach; he wanted to find the source of the sound but at the same time, he wanted to let it go and turn away. Somewhere deep inside, a foreboding feeling bit at him; but he couldn't stop his feet from moving forwards, the same way that he couldn't stop his hand from pushing the door open.

His hand fell back and hung limply at his side at the scene that unravelled in front of him. What he saw made his whole body flush with embarrassment, and yet there was a pleasant tang just below his navel. Hard as he tried, and as much as he knew it was wrong, he couldn't peel his eyes away from Draco's naked body. He was standing with his back to Harry, slightly slanted, his hand against the cold tiled walls of the bathroom, supporting his weight. His usually pale skin was flushed and Harry could see it glistening with a fine sheet of sweat under his neck and over his back. His other hand was moving furiously somewhere below his stomach, creating the wet noise that had caught Harry's attention in the first place. His fast panting seemed like concealed and silent moans and his eyes were shut; one of his legs propped forwards, oblivious to Harry's prying eyes.

Harry stood there watching, mesmerized. His head was filled with images of Draco panting, stroking. There were no words, no actual thoughts, only the pleasure. His mind had shut down, incapable of rational thought. He couldn't have moved if his life had depended on it. It was when a loud moan escaped Draco that Harry finally found himself and remembered where he was, what he was intruding on. Even though he had no physical body right then, he could feel a burning sensation going through him. Embarrassment, yes, but also something more. Something he couldn't fully grasp. He turned away and shut it out, going back to his nightmares. Being here, watching Draco like this, it was wrong.

He woke up in his bed, gasping. It wasn't even midnight yet, and though this time he hadn't been chased out of his dreams by empty nightmares, he found himself desperate not to fall back to sleep. He was sure that somewhere in the manor, Draco was still standing in a bathroom, stifling moans of pleasure, and he didn't want to chance ending up back there again.

He untangled himself from the sheets and made his way slowly to the bathroom. He stood there, relieving himself, and felt a strange gratification that he was sure he hadn't felt for a long time, if ever. When he was done, his hand remained where it had been, his body caught in a moment of hesitation. He yearned to stroke himself, to bring himself the same satisfaction that Draco had been so desperate for. He closed his eyes and tried to erase all the images in his mind, set it blank. His hand started moving slowly at first, and he felt himself hardening. He bit his lip, stroking faster, assuming the same position that Draco had had. As soon as that similarity crossed his mind, he couldn't stop the images that followed. He saw Draco's lean body, hips moving to meet his hand halfway. He felt the same desperation, the force behind every stroke, the need for release.

He saw Draco stroking himself, looking up at Harry with those stormy grey eyes. Though it hadn't really happened, it was easy enough to imagine. He felt himself getting closer to the edge and heard the same moan that had escaped Draco echo in his mind. Everything was meaningless and there was only the pleasure, and then he came in short, quick bursts. He lost himself in a pool of bliss, waves of pleasure rolling over him.

He barely remembered crawling back to bed. Falling back to sleep after that was easy and for the first time in a long time, there were no hollow nightmares chasing him. No, he dreamed of green fields and an easy wind that took him higher than ever before. He was as light as a feather.

xXx

He woke up much too soon to the sound of quick knocks that made no sense. After groggily looking around, he realized that the sound was coming from the window. He tried to look through his half open eyes and concentrate on the windows, and soon saw small stones being thrown again, producing the annoying sharp sounds that had woken him. It was still dark out; it couldn't have been much later than midnight. He wrapped his sheets around him messily and got out of bed, frowning and grumbling about nuisances under his breath.

He opened the window with some effort, fumbling around for the handle, and poked his head out, hoping that he wouldn't get hit in the face by any sharp stones. He made out the blurry shape of someone standing there somewhere below his balcony, and a puff of white-blond hair glimmering. He scowled harder, his stomach falling somewhere about twenty feet bellow him as if on a roller coaster ride. He pushed the hot and sweaty images out of his head which were only putting him in a worse mood.

"What?" He mumbled, annoyance clear in his voice, rubbing his puffy eyes and missing his warm bed immensely.

"I'm taking you out," stated Draco. Harry had to strain his ears to hear him. "I don't care what Snape's got to say. As long as no one recognizes you, nothing's going to happen."

"Couldn't you have told me this in my room? What's with the stones?" Harry muttered moodily.

"Oh, come on!" Said Draco with a smirk. "What would be the fun in that? I, unlike you, have a sense of adventure."

"Drama queen," grunted Harry quietly with a roll of his eyes.

Draco frowned and looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "What did you say?"

"That you just disrupted one of the best dreams I was having since I set foot in this cursed place and I'm going back to sleep," replied Harry more loudly.

"Keep your voice down!" muttered Draco theatrically. "And you can't. I'm taking you out. Get dressed."

"And what, jump down the balcony?" Harry grumbled.

"Don't be silly. I'll come up and meet you there," replied Draco with an innocent smile. "And you better be wide awake and dressed or I'll have Shabby sing by your bed till you wake up." At the confused look on Harry's face, he smiled sinisterly. "Believe me, you don't want to hear him screaming, er, singing, when you're trying to cling to your sanity, er, sleep."

"Right," said Harry with resignation and disappeared back inside, closing the window behind him.

He went into the ridiculously big closet that took up a whole room. He had meant to throw on the first thing he could get his hands on, but that turned out to be more difficult than he had planned. Just having to choose an outfit woke him up enough to make him feel nervous. It was his first time leaving the manor, and as bored as he had been here, dying to go somewhere new, he could feel how unready he really was. He went through a whole rack of clothes before he could find anything that wasn't too formal or flashy. By then, he was wide awake and close to chewing his fingernails for some consolation. In the end, he settled for a black long-sleeved button-up shirt and folded its sleeves up until his elbows and matched it with dark grey jeans hanging low on his hips and a pair of red sneakers. By the end, he was rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet and telling himself over and over again that he could survive some stupid social interaction. Maybe this late at night no one would be out and it would just be Draco and him. That thought made him even more nervous. He knew that Draco had no idea he had watched him masturbate just an hour ago, but he had watched him, and moreover, had gone off and masturbated himself. He told himself that it was perfectly normal since he hadn't done it in so long, but it still didn't feel right because he had thought of Draco while doing it, so he pushed the thought away and considered resorting to biting his nails once more.

"You're not nervous, are you?" Draco's voice came from the doorway.

Harry jumped and turned around, completely startled. He hadn't heard Draco come in, hadn't even felt his presence like he usually did before seeing him.

"No," Harry tried to say reassuringly, but his voice shook and he felt himself sweat bullets.

"Hey, it's going to be alright," Draco said soothingly. "If you hate it, we'll come right back."

"What if they recognize me?" Harry asked nervously.

"We'll just have to go somewhere where no one can recognize anyone, won't we?" said Draco with a mysterious smile that Harry disliked and mistrusted at once.

"Where's that?" He asked cautiously.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Asked Draco happily. He lost the smile when Harry looked daggers at him and scowled instead. "A club. Now come on!"

"A club?" Asked Harry, exasperated, while Draco took hold of his hand and pulled him away. "But I can't even drink!"

"Oh, what does that matter?" said Draco dismissively. "It's about the dancing, having fun. It's not all about drinking and drugs and sex–"

"Wait, is this about you being horny?" Asked Harry indignantly. "You can go without me," he said, annoyed. He yanked at Draco's hand, trying to pull himself free.

"No, Harry, you idiot," said Draco, squeezing his hand tightly and turning to face him. Harry could feel him breathing, it felt as if there was suddenly so much less space between them and he squirmed uncomfortably. "I want to show you a good time. I want to show you where I go when there's nowhere else to be and no one else to understand me. I dance it off. It works. Trust me," he finished softly, with his heart right there in his eyes.

Harry swore silently and looked into those pleading endless grey eyes even though he knew better and his instincts were telling him to bolt. He saw the Draco that knew what he was going through, how much darkness he was facing. He saw the Draco that had shown him how to fly again. He saw the Draco that had taken the time to helpfully go through books in the library and keep the best ones for him, ones that had become his very favourites. The Draco that had flown with him in the dead hours of the night when he woke up shaken from his very worst nightmares, always by his side when he needed him. He saw the Draco that fought the same demons as him and was ready to stick his neck out for him. He looked into those eyes and knew that all that mattered was that he trusted Draco.

He sighed and nodded weakly. Draco flashed him a winning smile and turned back around, taking off down the hallway and pulling Harry after him. Harry cringed, feeling the pulse in the hand that was held tightly by Draco. He tried not to think where that hand had been an hour ago. He wanted to distance himself from Draco. Every time they locked eyes, he was sure that Draco would be able to see the truth in his eyes and be disgusted.

They reached the dining hall and Draco stopped in front of the fireplace, turning towards Harry, finally letting his hand go. He reached for a jar over the fireplace that contained green, silvery powder. Harry was curious to see how they would be able to leave the manor and despite himself, got closer to Draco to look at the powder.

"Do we have to eat it?" asked Harry. Draco laughed softly and looked up at him, amused.

"I keep forgetting that you don't know this stuff," he replied mid laugh. "No, we don't have to eat it. It's floo powder. You have to throw it in the fire, state your destination and step inside it."

"Isn't that dangerous?" asked Harry, paler than before.

"Of course not," dismissed Draco. "Come on, just see how I do it and follow suit."

"Right," replied Harry, uncertainty bright in his tone.

Draco ignored it, stepping in front of the fire burning bright in the fireplace. He threw in a fistful of floo powder and the fire burned ever higher with strange green flames.

"The Mist," he stated clearly and stepped into the flames which engulfed him and he vanished in seconds.

Harry contemplated making a run for it and escaping back to his bed, but couldn't bring himself to let Draco down. The man had been under his balcony throwing stones at his window, after all. He cleared his throat nervously and stepped in front of the fire in imitation of Draco, holding a fistful of floo powder at the ready.

He promised himself that he would find something to do away from Draco and that he would forget about the dream and not let it ruin his first time out before throwing the floo powder resolutely into the once more orange flames.

"The Mist," he repeated loudly and stepped into the green flames, fully expecting to be scorched.

Mercifully, the flames were heatless to his touch. They engulfed him and soon he was spinning madly, smoke making him choke and darkness surrounding him completely. He felt nauseated and so very dizzy. When he thought that he couldn't possibly take it anymore, he was thrown out of an exit. Draco caught him by the arm and steadied him on his feet. He felt something wash over him and the dust left his clothes and hair. Looking up dizzily he saw that Draco's wand was out, tapping him on the head softly.

"You okay?" Draco asked distractedly, looking around.

"Fine," Harry muttered uneasily.

"Okay. I'll go get us some drinks," said Draco quickly before he disappeared in the crowd.

Harry stumbled on his feet, holding onto the wall beside him and wondering why the nausea wouldn't leave him. His stomach grumbled uncomfortably and he put a hand on it, frowning. Something clicked somewhere in the back of his head. Travelling between two places far apart, both being under the sphere, didn't mean that the path between them was also under the sphere. For a few seconds, he had been outside the sphere while travelling via the floo channel, and he couldn't really remember the last time he had taken his nutrition potions. He hadn't had any food in him to sustain him if he were placed outside the protection of the sphere. Even as he thought this, he could feel the nausea receding, the sphere working its magic and healing him. Nevertheless, he still felt dizzy and unsettled, feeling the impulse to throw up no matter how empty he knew his stomach to be.

Finally, Draco's words sank in and he looked up. He desperately wanted to remind Draco that he couldn't drink anyway, but Draco was nowhere in sight. Before he could freak out, he reminded himself that his original plan had been to separate himself from Draco in the first place, so nothing was out of order.

The reason he couldn't find Draco was that the crowd around him was pushing around at all sides. He couldn't tell where one body ended and another one began. The flashing coloured lights threw his eyes away from side to side even if he did know where he was supposed to look at, which didn't concern him because he had no idea where the bar was anyway, and it was generally seemed impossible to make his way around at all. Now he knew why Draco had chosen this place, it really would be impossible for anyone to make out his details well enough to recognize him. He looked hard at the fireplace and tried to memorize exactly where it was so that he would able to find his way back to the Malfoy Manor. Then he turned around and tried to look for the bar. He didn't want to stick to Draco, he told himself, he just wanted to keep him in sight.

As he was thrown around with the crowd from one side of the club to the other, elbowing his way around as much as he could, something seemed to be missing. He frowned, looking around, trying to prove himself wrong, but it was no good. No matter where he looked, he only saw guys. There were no girls here.

He finally made his way to the bar and finding an empty corner, leaned against the wall graciously. He still couldn't see Draco, but was more concerned with why there were no girls in the club. The music beat loudly against his eardrums and the flashing light made it ever harder to focus on anything for too long.

"See anything you like?" A voice shouted near his ear, and still he was only barely able to make out the words.

He looked towards his left and saw a medium built guy with short dark hair and coloured tips. It was impossible to say what colour it exactly was in this light. He was dressed the same way that most people here were, in extreme colours, leather, and mainly topless. He was at a loss for words. He was almost definitely sure that this was a gay bar, but couldn't fathom why Draco would bring him here.

Somewhere in the centre of the dance floor, a flash of white blond hair caught his eyes and he could see Draco dancing there, two guys dancing with him. He could feel his gaping mouth but could do nothing to close it. Dancing was hardly the word; grinding was more accurate. The golden aura that usually surrounded Draco had expanded to include the two guys, seductively curling around them. The man to his left turned to look at where he was looking and smirked.

"Him, eh?" he said with a jerk of his head towards Draco. "Don't dream big, kid, no one ever gets him. They all want him, don't they?" he trailed off, shaking his head sadly.

As he continued to stare at Draco, Draco's eyes caught his and he gave him a reassuring smile. Harry returned it with a glare and felt better when Draco looked away looking decidedly paler.

Harry could feel eyes travelling up and down his body and felt too exposed. He was being checked out by guys. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He wasn't sure how he felt about anything right now. He was too lightheaded to think clearly, and the smell of alcohol and the pulsing crowd, screaming along with the music, were not helping.

"Not sure I've ever seen you here before," The man continued to shout in Harry's ear. "How about I'll get you a drink and we hit it off on the dance floor?"

Harry looked back at him sharply, not sure that he'd heard correctly.

"Er, I don't drink," he replied hastily, trying to take a step back, but the crowd was pushing against him.

"Hey, it's alright," the man shouted with his hands in the air, trying to show Harry he meant no harm. "If you don't want to drink, you don't have to."

Harry looked into his eyes and couldn't see any bad intentions there. He had come here to enjoy himself, hadn't he? Dance it off, Draco had said. Yet, it felt strange. Dancing with guys in a gay bar. He felt it was cruel, leading them on, making them think there could be something more between them, when he didn't think about guys that way.

_Don't you?_ His mind threw at him. _You were jerking off to a guy an hour ago._

_That was different, _He told himself forcefully. To shut his mind off completely, he took the guy's hand and dragged him off to the dance floor. He gave himself over to the music, letting the noise fill his head and chase away all the disturbing thoughts. He didn't know how to dance, but the music taught him. He was moving with it, finding the rhythm and falling into it easily. The bodies around him were pushing and moving against him, but that hardly mattered. He looked around, but couldn't find Draco.

The nausea was still there, and looking at all the strangers around him, he felt claustrophobic, wanting to get away from it all. The guy he was dancing with, he suddenly realized that he didn't even know his name, but didn't dare ask either for fear of exposing who himself was by failing to lie convincingly, was holding him too close for comfort and touching him in places he wasn't sure he wanted to be touched. He pushed away and tried to put a distance between their bodies, feeling so very out of his comfort zone. What was he doing here? Grinding against a stranger? A guy, at that? This wasn't who he was, who he wanted to be.

He tried to get away, to untangle the hands from his body. The guy frowned at him, leaning close to shout in his ear so he could be overheard over the loud music.

"I didn't think you would be this kind of person," he shouted disappointedly.

His tone woke something in Harry, something that made him want to prove everyone wrong, to go to the moon and back, achieve the impossible.

"What kind of person?" He shouted back, though he already knew the answer.

"Someone afraid to even be touched," the guy answered, moving to get away.

The newly awoken part in Harry took over all control and held the man back. This new part surprised him, but it was so strong that he didn't try fighting it. He only knew that he wanted to do something wild, something to show that he wasn't some saint, some conservative person that was afraid of taking a chance, of doing anything wrong, living by some higher rules that were unbreakable.

The guy looked at him with a smirk, daring him with his eyes to prove him wrong. Harry took the guy's hands and put them back on his hips. He moved closer so that there was practically no space left between their bodies, and started dancing again. The man leaned even closer and drank in his scent, answering every sway of his hips with his own. There was a fire burning bright inside Harry, begging for more. He felt so aroused and nothing was enough. He didn't think it strange that he couldn't find anything in him that was against this, every part of his body wanted it now that he'd shut off his mind.

He pressed his mouth against the guy's ear. He said two words, words that he had never thought he would ever say to a man: "Fuck me."

The man looked at him in shock. "Really? Now?"

Harry nodded at him, the fire burning in his eyes. The guy looked so startled, not believing Harry. It made him feel strangely empowered to be able to have such an effect on anyone. He would prove everyone wrong. He could be wild. He wasn't sure where such a great need had come from, but it was pleasant enough to go with it.

He started to regret his decision when the fireplace was only a few feet in front of him. Their journey across the dance floor had taken long enough, and by now Harry was sure that he didn't want any part in this. What had he been thinking? There hadn't been a single part of him doubting his decision before, but now the only thing that he wanted was to flee.

Somewhere along the way, when they were elbowing their way to the fireplace, the guy had turned around and looked at him, seeing the doubt in his eyes, and had mistaken it for impatience.

"We'll be there soon," he'd promised with a grin. He'd then proceeded to put Harry's hand over his groin, "This will be soon yours," he'd assured Harry.

Harry had given him the ghost of a smile, but his stomach had churned and he'd felt sick at the hardened flesh he could feel under the tight jeans. He'd then been sure that this had been a great mistake and all he'd wanted to do was to crawl back to his bed and pretend it had all been a bad dream.

But now, they were standing in front of the fireplace, and he couldn't see any way out of it. The guy was standing in front of him with floo powder in his hands, shouting the name of their destination. His voice was lost in the loud music, and Harry was only frantically looking around, trying to find Draco, his last hope out of this, so he wasn't listening for the words anyway. Draco was nowhere to be found. The guy turned around and grinned at Harry, stepping behind him and pushing him forwards. Harry closed his eyes, swallowed heavily, and stepped into the green flames, wishing that the Earth would open and swallow him whole. As he spun away and the smoke clung to him, he desperately wished his magic to come to his rescue and change his destination to the Malfoy Manor. He knew it hadn't worked even before he was thrown out the exit and his feet made contact with wood tiles instead of the marbled floor of the Manor.

He felt as if the ground under him was spinning. He knew that it couldn't be, that it was just dizziness from his second trip from a sphere to sphere that were located far from each other and hence the floo network between them would have passed through open air that didn't heal his body from the lack of nutrition, and he waited for the nausea to pass now that he was under the sphere again. However, it was much worse than the first time. He felt so weak and he couldn't afford to be. He needed to get out of here, but felt close to passing out.

He stepped out of the way with effort, looking at his unfamiliar surroundings. It was small, much smaller than the manor. He heard a thump behind him and turned around to find his companion standing there, smiling at him ominously.

"Is this your room?" Harry asked, trying to stall for time and find a way out of this situation any way he could.

"No, a friend's," he answered vaguely.

In the dancing flames, Harry still couldn't make out what colour the man's hair or even eyes were, but it wasn't as if he cared for any of that right now.

"Look this was fun, but I'm supposed to be back soon, they'll be worried about me," said Harry evasively, trying to go around the guy and back into the fire. He stumbled and almost fell. Strong arms reached out and took hold of him.

"Are you alright?" The man asked with some concern. "Look, why don't you lie down for a while? You look really pale."

Harry wanted to argue, wanted to say that he really had to go back, but couldn't find the strength. The suggestion of lying down sounded so good to his ears. As good as it sounded, he still didn't want to be here. Didn't want to be near the man who couldn't keep his hands to himself. He didn't want any of this.

"Look, I'm not so sure about this," he said loudly, putting all of his remaining strength into his voice to make it sound stronger than he felt.

"Shhh," the man said anxiously. "You don't want to wake anyone up."

That was when Harry knew that to get out of this, all he had to do was scream for help. He could shout, and they would come and get this guy off him. Take him back to the manor. The man lay him on the bed and looked at him.

Harry looked at the guy whose name he didn't even know. He wondered why he didn't find it in him to scream for help. He knew what was going to happen now with a clarity that only came from being this terrified. He knew that he didn't have the strength to stop it. He knew that he had wanted this, but now he didn't. He knew it wasn't fair to lead someone on, but he wanted out, and had made it clear.

The guy reached down and unzipped his jeans. Harry looked down, horror struck. Now would be a great time to shout for help. Now would be the time.

He watched as unfamiliar fingers fumbled around with his button and then zipper. He felt hands lift his bottom gingerly so that his jeans and underwear could be pulled lower. He didn't know why he was not screaming for help. He still definitely didn't want this.

He felt fingers wrapping around him, stroking him gently. As disgusted as he felt, his body still responded to the touch. He felt the fire burning through him. But it felt wrong. It felt all wrong. The fingers left him and his bottom was lifted over a pillow. Another finger was probing his entrance, and though at first he jerked in surprise, he got used to it sooner than he would have expected. The heat was unbearable. Why wasn't he shouting for help? He had a voice. He was sure he did.

Something else replaced the finger, something bigger. He felt himself growling in discomfort. It entered him gently, but the discomfort was too great. He couldn't take it. It was impossible to breathe, or move at all.

"No," he muttered in pain. "I can't take it."

"Just wait," the guy panted with pleasure. "You'll get used to it soon."

"No!" Grunted Harry. "Take it out! Take it out, now!"

The guy looked at him with half-lidded eyes. If Harry had thought he'd felt helpless when Draco had cornered him and dug into his shoulders, it was nothing compared to how he felt right now. He tried to call forth his magic that was supposed to protect him, but nothing happened. Everything was falling apart around him, and he couldn't breathe in this uncomfortable position. He couldn't do anything but roll in the panic that had taken over every inch of him. He had never wished for Draco, for anyone, to come to his rescue as he did then, and yet he couldn't bring himself to scream for help. He didn't understand it; he didn't know why he couldn't turn on this guy that was taking so much from him.

"Suck me off then," the man sighed exasperatedly and pulled out of Harry.

Harry felt so close to passing out that he wasn't sure where he found the energy to pull up his pants and bend over to do something he had never done before.

"I don't know how," he whispered slowly.

"Pull back your teeth," the man muttered as he let his eyes fall shut. "Use your mouth."

Harry did as instructed, but felt his mouth go dry instantly. When he tried to take too much of it in, he felt himself start to gag. It was such an uncomfortable thing to do, but not as bad as having it shoved inside him, so he continued without complaint. He used his hands mostly.

After a while, the man pushed him back and started jerking himself off, coming into his hands.

"Are you going to drink it?" He asked Harry.

Harry shook his head mutely. The man stood up and went into a side room, which was probably the bathroom, and left Harry on the bed, drowning in his own misery. He had never felt so dirty. Never felt as if he amounted to nothing. He felt less than nothing, less than trash. He watched, expressionless, as the man exited the bathroom, pulled up his zipper, took a fistful of floo powder by the fireplace, uttered words low enough that Harry couldn't hear, and disappeared into green flames that hopefully took him far away.

If Harry had still been able to feel, he would have felt rage at being abandoned like this, used and thrown away, left in a stranger's house, in someone else's bed. He wondered what would happen if he stayed here. What would happen when some people found a stranger in their house?

He decided that he'd had enough adventures tonight to last him a lifetime and that he'd rather not find out. He made his way to the fireplace on shaky legs, took a fistful of floo powder, threw it into the orange flames which turned green and burned higher, muttered 'Malfoy Manor,' and stepped into the flames. A part of him wished for it to burn him. To burn all this filth off him, so that he would cease to exist at all. He was so tired, and so fed up with everything, and knew that couldn't undergo being out of the protective sphere a third time while he travelled from here to the Manor that could have been a thousand miles apart. When he landed against the cold marbled floor of the manor, he fell to his knees and gagged. Nothing came out; there was nothing to come out. He was empty, inside and out.

The only reason he mustered up enough energy to get up and go to his bedroom was that he promised himself no one would ever know what had happened to him. He fell over his sheets, fully dressed, and weighed down with exhaustion. His nightmares followed him all through the night and well into the morning, but this time, they weren't hollow dreams making him feel as if the darkness was chasing him to take him back into its clutches; no, this time, they were filled with laughter, just a continuous laughter. It sounded so malevolent and he was so helpless to it that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wake himself up and end it.

He couldn't even wish for the darkness to take him. He was too weak for even that.


	14. The Untold Story

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews :) it mean a lot to know that even though not much happens in this story, I can still keep it interesting.

**Chapter Fourteen**

**The Untold Story**

As he slept on, more nightmares plagued his uneasy sleep and a conscious part of him kept reliving those short but awful moments that he knew he would never be able to forget. Being on that bed, half nauseous, half defiant, he hadn't felt like himself at all. Although he'd had out of body experiences before, this time had been completely different. It was as if he'd been watching himself on that bed, and his pants being lowered, as if it had all been someone else and not him that it was happening to. That had lasted up until the moment when he'd watched himself get penetrated and then he'd crashed back into his body painfully enough, finally believing that it really was him that this was happening to, feeling worse than trash. Now, reliving it, he couldn't hold off the tears anymore. The nausea and dizziness had subsided and even the emptiness that made him feel light as a feather was gone. It was all a mess of shattered reality inside him. He had thought nothing on this scale would ever really happen to him. After all, he had his magic and his Draco to keep him safe. Both had failed him. He felt more tears sting his eyes and continued to cry in his sleep. He couldn't blame Draco for this, not really. Anyone would have lost sight of another in that bloody overcrowded club. The only person to blame for this was himself. How could he have let go of all precaution like that? What if the stranger had ended up being one of those holding a grudge against him and had identified him when they'd gone off to a private place? He was lucky he wasn't dead.

Some time after going through the painful experience again and feeling his breath catch for the hundredth time, his mind slipped further into unconsciousness and tried to change the situation; to make the nightmare more bearable. In his dream, as he lay on the bed, Harry watched, hopeful, as the flames in the fireplace turned green and a new figure walked through them, menacing and ready to take Harry back no matter what the cost. He felt Draco's warm aura tingling around him, felt him push the heavy figure off him and kneel beside him, just looking into his eyes, and ask him if he was okay. His brain wanted desperately for that to have happened, but the realistic part of Harry knew that no such thing could have happened. Life wasn't a fairy tale. People didn't get saved just because they wished for it hard enough. He'd gotten himself into a bad situation and now he had to live with the consequences.

He woke up, feeling colder than ever. It must have been the early hours of the morning. The sun was up, but evidently had not been in the sky long enough to warm his room yet. He wasn't sure why he'd woken up so early when he had no desire to get up and face the world, especially when Draco would undoubtedly want to question him about last night, but when he became less disoriented, he felt the familiar warmth of Draco's aura and knew that he wasn't alone like he'd hoped to be. It had probably been the feel of Draco's golden aura that had pushed his mind into changing his nightmare to include Draco as a saviour, which meant that he must have been standing there for quite a while now to have influenced his dreams. He couldn't find it in him to be annoyed that his sleep had been disrupted; it was an easy choice between reliving that nightmare which he had no control over and facing Draco's questions and handing him hasty lies that were very well within his control.

He looked up at Draco with half-open eyes, lies already half-formed in his head. He was standing by the wall, the same place Harry had found him in the last time he'd stood there. He hoped Draco wasn't making a habit of this. When his vision cleared further and he could notice details, he caught Draco's pale face and delicate frown, and all thought of playfully chasing Draco out with a pillow disappeared from his mind.

"Where did you disappear off to last night?" Whispered Draco, eyes pasted to the floor, a permanent frown marring his features. "I looked _everywhere_. Checked every bathroom stall. Looked under every table. I even asked people if they'd seen someone with your features, never mind the risk of having them recognize you as Harry Potter. And then I come back after hours of panicking and looking through every corner of the club to make sure you're not passed out somewhere, and here you are, sound asleep."

Harry took a moment to swallow and clear his throat. He hadn't expected this. He'd been so busy trying to forget what had happened that in comparison not having told Draco that he was back at the Manor by sending Shabby with a message did not seem that big a deal. But looking into Draco's betrayed eyes now, he could see how it may have been the second greatest mistake he'd made last night. Of course Draco would see it as a betrayal, a childish tantrum with Harry running away when he'd seen Draco giving more attention to others than to him. He could see all that and more in Draco's stormy eyes that were far less open to him now than they had been just a few hours ago. Maybe his lost innocence wasn't his only loss last night. All in all, he'd handled his one night of freedom the worst way he could have. But in the midst of all these disasters, here was Draco, handing him a story to build up on. He'd thought that Harry had run away in the face of strangers crowding him without the attention of Draco to sedate him and so Harry would just go with it. After all, he was protecting him from the truth which would hurt far worse. If Draco ever found out how he'd failed in protecting Harry by taking it for granted and trusting Harry to take care of himself for a few minutes, then he would never forgive himself.

"What else did you expect?" He bit out, narrowing his eyes as Draco's head snapped up and he locked eyes with him. "First you take me to this overcrowded place for the very first time I'm going out to be around strangers again, overwhelming all my senses, then you disappear on the pretence of getting me drinks when you very well know I can't even drink because of my weak stomach, and leave me with strangers groping me. Then when I finally find you again you're in the middle of the dance floor, grinding against said strangers, having the time of your life."

He glared at Draco, feeling something tear inside him as Draco got paler and paler. _I'm doing this for his own good, this is still far better than the real reason why I left the club, _He told himself. _And yeah, I'm getting my grudges out of the way at the same time. This is all true, after all. He was an idiot to think taking me there would be a good idea. Maybe he's not responsible for the decisions I made or the trouble I got myself into, and maybe it wasn't his fault that I couldn't find him in time to ask him to rescue me from the hole I'd dug myself into, but being angry is better than breaking down and crying right now._

"You didn't look like you needed me," continued Harry in the same acidic tone. "So I left."

"Oh, Harry," Draco stepped forward, biting his lower lip, the hurt in his eyes replaced by guilt. "I'm so sorry, it's so hard to lose track of things in there, and I was so worried about your reaction that I dismissed everything else and rushed away from your side on your very first time out."

He hung his head, slumped down and slid to the floor. "I'm so sorry. I never thought about it from your side."

"You were worried about my reaction to what?" Asked Harry suspiciously. He watched Draco take a deep breath, come to a silent decision if the look of determination in his eyes was any clue, and prepare himself as if facing an execution.

"There's a reason I took you to the Mist on your first night out. And there's also a reason why I was insistent on going tonight instead of waiting for later, when I could see it in your eyes that you weren't ready yet," He confessed hastily. Harry sat up on the bed, leaning forward. It seemed like Draco had thought long and hard about how to word this, and he felt himself hanging off every word. "I wonder if you noticed that the Mist was a gay bar."

"Indeed?" Asked Harry a touch too sarcastically. He frowned. He'd been spending too much time around Snape.

"Yeah, well," laughed Draco somewhat hysterically. "I wanted you to see my preferred sexuality without my having to outright say it to you.

"Because… because I fancy you Harry."

Harry gulped. Of all the things, he hadn't expected this to be what Draco would say to him. He felt his expression go blank, his body go limp, his mind freeze. "W-what?"

"You heard me." Said Draco, somewhat braver, looking up at Harry. "I fancy you Harry. Have for a long time. I'm tired of being invisible. Yes I was grinding with random strangers. But that was to show you that I prefer male company, to that extent and of that nature, and I stayed away from you because I was sure once you'd figure it out, you'd run for the hills. Of course I hadn't truly expected you to vanish so suddenly, or I would have anticipated you being back at the Manor instead of looking all over the Mist for you."

Draco scratched behind his neck, frowning. "Actually, I was so frantic with where you'd gone that I lost all rational thought and didn't think to check here first and foremost." He looked up at Harry sheepishly. "I guess that was another error on my part. Shouldn't have barged in here and put the blame on you. Forgive me?"

Harry looked back at Draco silently. Besides shock, he could feel hot guilt running through him at the words. Draco was apologising for putting all the blame on Harry, when in all actuality Harry had been putting all the blame on Draco more than gladly in order to avoid talking about the real reason behind his disappearance. He would be damned to let Draco take the fall for this, but between being stunned into silence from Draco's confession and not yet being ready to talk about what had happened to him last night, he simply nodded his forgiveness, not finding his tongue to say anything more.

Draco gave him a bright smile. "I know it was cruel of me to have ignored you and simply assuming the worst." He crawled over to Harry's bedside and sat cross legged next to it on the floor. "It was an overwhelming experience wasn't it? I was really rash, taking you there, yeah? I'm a prat."

Harry smirked at Draco. This, he knew how to deal with.

"Yeah you are. I'm glad you finally see the light," he joked. Draco's smile broadened.

"Uh huh," he agreed. "Who was that guy talking to you anyway?"

"What?" Gulped Harry, the smile leaving his face. Draco had seen the stranger? How much had he seen?

"The one you dragged to the dance floor?" Asked a confused Draco. "To get back at me with, I presume?" A hint of a smile played at the corner of Draco's lips. Harry sighed in relief. If that's all Draco had seen, then he could still get out of this.

"No one. I didn't even catch his name." Replied Harry nonchalantly.

It was Draco's turn to smirk.

"So no one I need to worry about?" He joked.

Harry looked away nervously. Draco was hinting too much at his previous confession about fancying Harry. It made him uncomfortable to have to think of it so soon after what had been such a cruel violation of his senses and body. He couldn't think of anything remotely intimate right now, be it physical or mental intimacy. If people didn't bother him about it for another ten years it still would be too soon.

"No," said Harry, remembering to reply after the awkward pause. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," murmured Draco, too eagerly for Harry's liking. He shuffled through his brain, trying to come up with something that would bring an effective subject change.

"I felt really nauseous after going through the floo. Why was that?" Asked Harry, relieved to have found a suitable question. Although he had a fair idea about this, it wouldn't hurt to discuss it. When Draco frowned at him in concern, he only had a few seconds to regret his choice in bringing it up. What was Draco looking at him like that for?

"You're not taking your nourishment potions, are you?" He accused. When Harry shook his head guiltily, he sighed and continued in a more subdued tone, "I should have known. The same thing happened to me. I realised that eating was pointless while the sphere protected and healed me, and so I stopped too, at least until my first floo when I realised my mistake."

"What does eating have to do with it?" He asked, feigning too much ignorance. He wondered briefly if Draco would call him out on it, and was relieved when he didn't, too caught up in lecturing Harry as he was.

"Well the Manor and the Mist are miles apart, each hidden under their own protective sphere, yeah?" When Harry nodded, Draco continued, "and their only connection is the floo network. The floo that connects all places that are hidden under their own individual spheres, that is. It is an entirely different network from the floo that connects places that are outside the sphere, so that criminals like us can't cross to the innocent side," Draco rolled his eyes, obvious disdain marking his words. "But the floo that connects here to the Mist and other places that are under spheres separate from here, has to cover the miles separating these spheres and so ventures outside the protective spheres for miles. Call it an oversight if you will. While we are travelling from sphere to sphere using floo, we'll be momentarily free from the influence of the sphere, causing our body to not heal itself for a while. That's what you were feeling," Draco finished. "You were feeling the lack of nutrition in your body because the sphere wasn't there to heal you while you were travelling through the floo network."

Harry nodded silently. On top of everything else, now he had to remember to take his nutrition potions too. Great. In the silence, as he thought about how his life needed to change after a few hours had changed them forever, Draco apparently had gone back to the subject Harry had veered him away from.

"So, um," Draco broke the silent, bringing Harry out of his reverie. "Are you running for the hills yet?" He gave Harry a sardonic smile. "After finding out about my… preference?"

Harry looked into Draco's eyes, feeling his heart beat loudly in his ears. Draco looked so open and vulnerable. How could he turn him down?

"No," he said softly. "I don't care about that."

Draco looked back at Harry with relief shining bright in his eyes. "You don't?"

"I don't," replied Harry reassuringly. He couldn't help but smile. "Are you still worried about that?"

When Draco pursed his lips and didn't say anything, Harry muttered, "Bloody idiot."

"Oi!" Objected Draco, although the relieved smile was still on his lips. "It's not like you gave me an answer when I confessed to fancying you. Don't think I don't see you trying to change the subject," Draco stuck his tongue out and climbed onto the bed next to Harry, "unsuccessfully_._"

Harry lay back down and pulled the sheets over his head. "Was not," he mumbled from under them.

"Was too!" Claimed Draco as he bent over Harry and lowered the sheets from over his head playfully. The cheeriness left him when he saw Harry's expressionless face staring off into nothingness.

"What's wrong Harry?" He asked softly, putting his hand against Harry's pale cheek. Harry flinched and Draco pulled back his hand worriedly. "Are you so disgusted with my confession?" He swallowed hard when Harry didn't reply and he turned as pale as Harry was. "I see."

Harry finally turned to look at Draco, propped on his elbows over Harry's body, the worry and concern turning his aura a pale yellow. "Don't be ridiculous. It's just been one hell of a night. Give a bloke some time to adjust."

Inside, Harry could feel himself dying. In his head, he was back under the stranger, feeling helpless and sick.

"Then why did you flinch when I touched you?"

Harry looked defiantly into Draco's eyes, not answering. Draco put his hand back over Harry's cheek and this time Harry didn't flinch, but continued to gaze at him.

They stayed in that position, Draco leaning over Harry, until Harry was sure he'd memorized the exact shade of Draco's eyes and would be able to tell them apart from other people's even in the dark. His tense muscles relaxed one by one. This wasn't the stranger. This was Draco. His Draco. He knew Draco, knew that he would never intentionally hurt him, would never force him to do what he didn't truly want to do. When Draco finally lifted his hand and himself up off of him, Harry breathed in deeply.

"I'll let you sleep then," said Draco after he'd recollected his thoughts. "And give you some time to adjust."

"Right," replied Harry, breathless. When Draco was long gone, he got up and went to brush his teeth in a daze. His mouth still tasted foul from his earlier activities the previous night. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to rid himself of the taste. Mixed with the taste of sleep as it was, it was even more disgusting than it had been only hours ago. He couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep with that taste in his mouth, with the sweat on his body, with the lingering feeling of having been violated that was so strong that he wasn't sure he remembered what was it like not to feel this way. How had he relaxed under Draco's touch a few moments ago? Now that his calming presence wasn't here, all he could hear was the loud and trapped beating of his heart against his ribcage. It wasn't fair, what had happened to him. He wanted it to be undone. He brushed his teeth thrice, vigorously and thoroughly each time, and stared at himself in the mirror, seeing how broken he really looked. How had Draco not seen that? He wasn't sure if he felt relief or sadness from that fact. After all, he'd attacked Draco, put the blame on him, so that Draco would be on the defensive and wouldn't have time to question Harry and see through his feeble lies. After all, it was no good to go over the memories of last night, or earlier this morning, or whenever the hell it had been. He shut all those memories in a steel box, shutting them off in the deepest and darkest corners of his mind. He'd just pretend it had never happened. If he pretended hard enough, then maybe it would be so.

He decided to think about something else. After all, between jerking off to images of Draco masturbating, hearing him confess to fancying him without so much an objection, and not pushing him away when he'd practically lain over him, stroking his cheek, Harry thought it appropriate to start questioning his own sexuality. Hard as he tried to remember anything from his life before, he couldn't recall whether he was straight, gay, or bisexual.

Dismissing it all, he decided that it didn't really matter. Right now, all that mattered would be to get himself back on track. He had to start taking the nourishment potions again, and start training his magic harder than before. It had escaped him when he'd needed it most, like that time when Snape had fed him the sleeping potion back in the small, dark room without Harry's magic coming to help push him off. In moments of pure panic he hadn't been able to call it forth, and that could be a huge problem in the future. Besides, as working with his wandless magic really drained him and took all his concentration, it would be a good solution to forgetting all that had happened last night even if his steel box proved to be breakable and the memories came rushing back.

Feeling drained enough for a lifetime however, he fell back onto bed and dozed on and off until midafternoon, this time dreaming pleasantly of an eventless day out in the green fields, sitting around reading books with Draco by his side, his hand in Harry's hair. He wasn't yet sure about his feelings towards the blond or his earlier confession, but that was okay. Their friendship was strong enough to survive this even if he decided to reject Draco in the end.


	15. Start of a New Tale

**Author's Notes: **Harry's depressed. So he's going to be obsessive, moody, a loner, and pretty much a sleep-all-day kind of person throughout this chapter.

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Start of a New Tale**

Harry was startled out of sleep. He woke up breathless, the horrid brown aura of the nameless man from the club still visible as daylight in front of him. He blinked a few times groggily and things came into focus, more or less. He breathed in deeply, told himself that he was only gazing at a brown dresser, not the terrible aura of the man from the bar come-to-life out of his nightmares, and pushed the covers back. Though he hadn't noticed it at the time, the man had had a dark brown aura, and it was pretty much all he could recall now from him. It was all the work he'd put into forgetting all about him, using the steel box that had proved trustworthy enough for its purposes. For some reason, the aura still haunted him.

His face felt oddly cold and sticky. Lifting hesitant fingers and tracing his skin, he felt fresh tears on his cheeks. He felt a new wave of them coming on and hid his face in his pillows miserably.

Recovering from that night hadn't been easy. He found himself wanting to bury the memory somewhere untouchable inside his beloved steel box time and time again because it somehow kept finding a way back to the surface. He found himself working so hard on his magic that by the end of the day he fell into his bed and sleep took him almost at once. It usually helped with giving him dreamless sleeps. He tried to avoid Draco by giving him reassuring smiles and then locking himself away in the study or an unused room for some privacy. He couldn't deal with Draco's insecurities and feelings when his own were so overwhelming. He had headaches so terrible that the only way to make them better was to curl into a ball and rock back and forth. The healing would kick in and take the headache away after a minute or so, but the headache would come back soon enough. It was an endless circle of misery.

He had meant to keep Draco away from it. The only person who noticed that he was acting strangely was Draco after all. But no matter how many feeble smiles and mutters of needing privacy for concentrating on his magic he sent his way, Draco grew more worried by the day. Harry was sure of this because he could see the effect in Draco's aura. From its original cheerful and elegant golden colour, it had now become a fidgety dark yellow.

As it was, he was hiding in the study, behind a wall of books, using his magic to lift one after another and pile them over each other with a flick of his mind. He was very proud of his work; the piles of books were growing so tall that they were starting to wobble threateningly. The scowling face of Lucius flashed before him and he flicked his hand sheepishly, sending the books back to their exact places on the bookshelves. He knew that if he dropped so much as one book, Lucius would scream at him for days on end.

He jumped when a knock sounded on the door. It was hesitant and soft. He considered feigning sleep, but in the end got up with a sigh and went to open the door. He knew who it was before turning the knob. Draco's nervousness was so strong that it was making him nervous too.

He was surprised to find not Draco, but Snape standing outside. Frowning, he looked left and right, trying to make sure that Draco wasn't hiding somewhere.

"Expecting someone else?" Snape asked coldly, raising an eyebrow.

"No," answered Harry confusedly. "What are you doing here?"

"Am I not allowed in the Potter Fortress?" asked Snape with a smirk. From the unamused look on Harry's face, he dropped the smirk and said more seriously, "I hope that you're holed up in there reading books, not working with that mysterious magic of yours."

"If I don't work on it, how can I get better?" Asked Harry irritably. After all, it was no business of Snape's.

"We get you a new wand, that's how," replied Snape dryly. "even if we have to venture out of the Manor's safety to do it. Harry, we're not sure of the source of this magic. If it comes straight from your magical core, you can drain it without realising and be left with no magic. Wandless magic can be very tricky. It may evade you when you need it most, when you're most desperate for it. We don't know where it comes from or what its limits and rules are. You shouldn't play around with it."

Harry thought back to the night he was trying so desperately to forget. He had called forth his magic anxiously and it _had _evaded him. The same was true for when Snape had given him the sleeping potion after interrogating him. He felt some relief roll over him. At the time, he had thought the defensive magic wouldn't come because somewhere deep inside he'd wanted to be invaded. He hadn't let himself be truly angry over what had happened, he'd felt guilty and confused, thinking that some part of him had welcomed what had happened. But looking at the serious look in Snape's eyes, he was sure now that he had wanted no part of it; knew that it was fine to be angry. The relief vanished and in its place came anger, and with anger came unshed tears.

"Okay," he told Snape, holding his tears back with some difficulty. He hoped his eyes hadn't gotten red or watery. "No more playing with the mysterious magic."

He looked at the small space between Snape and the door which was his only way out.

"Promise," he said to the unconvinced look on Snape's face and grabbed the closest book and made to leave the study.

"That went easier than I expected," grumbled Snape as he stepped back to let Harry through. "You really are a different person from that stubborn Harry I once knew."

Harry left without a reply, though what Snape said had stung him. Soon as his back was to Snape, the silent tears rolled down his face. He felt himself mourning for a lost life that he couldn't even remember, for a magic that was no use to him because it evaded him when he needed it most, and for a life he hadn't asked for, filled with pain and loss and unnecessary guilt.

As he turned the corner, he almost ran into a figure standing there and felt familiar hands holding him steady. He looked up into those worried pale eyes and felt even more angry and ashamed. He looked at Draco defiantly; ready to say anything to make him go away, even if he had to hurt him to do it.

But Draco didn't say anything. He only stepped forward and held Harry in his arms. After the surprise faded away, the book fell to the floor out of his hands and Harry raised his own arms and clung to Draco, his tears escalating to sobs. He was soon sobbing uncontrollably, forgetting to feel any shame in doing so, or even fear Lucius for having dropped one of his books. His whole life was a mess and nothing made sense. He let his brain shut down, putting himself in Draco's hands. He crushed Draco to him until he was sure their bodies were moulded to hold the other's shape.

After he lost all sense in his hands and they were tingling painfully for a good long time, Draco gently pulled away. Harry refused to let go completely and so Draco awkwardly walked them both through the corridor and into an unfamiliar room. Harry didn't care enough to open his half-shut eyes or ask where they were; and all he thought when Draco collapsed onto a bed and took him down with him was that it was more comfortable this way.

He woke up feeling better than he had in days. And for the first time since that night, he raised his hands to feel the sticky trail left from the dried tears of yesterday instead of fresh tears shed in his dreams. He felt another body stretch next to him and someone hum in satisfaction. The vibration of the sound was pressed against him and tickled pleasantly. He frowned, fully coming back into his body from the clutches of sleep, and became aware of being curled against Draco, holding onto his body as if it was his lifeline. He turned his head and looked apprehensively into sleepy grey eyes. The look in his eyes was calculating and Harry knew that it was up to him. He could jump out of bed and shout at Draco or walk away and pretend that yesterday hadn't happened.

Instead, he curled closer to Draco and was rewarded with a look of surprise. Besides feeling too good to move away and wanting to snuggle as close to Draco's deliciously warm body as he could because of the nippy air of the morning, he felt himself reluctant to leave now when Draco had seen the truth of how miserable and depressed he really was. Moreover, Draco was here to offer love and protection, something that Harry desperately needed right now. He needed some reassurance to know that he wasn't worse than trash and something to be used and then discarded without being worth so much as a second glance. He could let it all go and let Draco take care of him. He couldn't fathom now why he'd decided that shutting Draco out would be the best idea. _You didn't know how to deal with his confession,_ he reminded himself. _But it wasn't fair to just ignore him either. _He knew that he had no hope of making it alone, however, not after he had tasted how easy it would be to lean on Draco and cry on his shoulder and truly forget how vile he felt. He needed someone who understood him. Draco had known that he didn't need to talk about anything but needed to cry it out with someone there to offer some silent support. He now felt very guilty for having ignored Draco for so long, cuddling with the accused as he was. He had probably doubted Harry ever wanting to acknowledge him again after his confession. Harry shuddered, feeling more and more guilt pile up on the rest. Draco didn't deserve to be treated like that just because Harry was too scared to face his own emotions. He promised himself to go through his emotions and work out what he felt for Draco sooner rather than later. Cuddling next to him felt so good that he doubted it would take much thinking to get his answers.

Now that he was more conscious to his surroundings, he recognized Draco's room from his dream with some difficulty. It had been dark and faded the last time he'd visited it, but that was definitely the same bathroom door he had been so tempted to push open and the room was the same vast one that was mostly decorated in silver and dark green.

"Why gold then?" Whispered Harry; mostly to himself.

"Sorry?" asked Draco, coming out of a light doze.

"Your colours are silver and green," repeated Harry, "aren't they?"

"'Suppose so," replied Draco with a confused frown, not sure where this was going.

"But your aura is gold," objected Harry.

"Oh, I have an aura, do I?" grinned Draco. "What, does it turn green when I'm jealous and red when I'm angry?"

"I'm being serious!" grumbled Harry, smacking Draco lightly.

"Right," replied Draco, his eyes shining with amusement. "Then you tell me why it's gold, if you really can see auras, that is."

"Stop joking around," complained Harry, starting to pull away from Draco. "Just forget it."

"No!" said Draco apologetically, pulling Harry back against him. "Okay, okay. I have no idea why mine is gold, then. What colours do others have?"

Harry frowned, looking into the distance.

"I said I'm sorry!" said Draco grudgingly. "Just tell me, please?"

"It's not that," replied Harry shyly. "It's that I never noticed theirs before." He thought of the awful brown aura but dismissed it quickly. He wasn't thinking of that, now or ever again.

"Oh," said Draco, amused. "You're blushing."

"No, I'm not!" Denied Harry, panicking and poking at his traitor of a face. He tried to make the blood flow disappear off to somewhere else but his face burned worse than before and only made Draco's amused grin widen further.

He turned away onto his side and put his hands to his face, trying to cool his cheeks off. Draco turned sideways behind him and slung a lazy hand over his stomach. Harry found himself nestling against him and gave up on cooling his face down.

It was dusk before Draco spoke again. They had spent the day in bed, dozing in and out of light sleep, not even bothered by a house elf. It had been the most relaxing day and all of Harry's walls had been lowered into nothingness. So when Draco brought up this particular subject, the tense feeling that took hold of Harry felt alien.

"I think something happened at the club, Harry," said Draco quietly. "Something that you don't want to talk about. And I won't make you. But I want you to know that if you ever do, I'll be here to listen. And that no matter how horrible you think it is and how damaged you think it's made you, because I see it in your eyes so there's no use denying it, I want you to know that it doesn't bother me. I don't care about what happened, and if it makes you flinch away when I touch you the way I want to touch you, then I'll wait until it doesn't. I'll try every day until you're so used to me that it won't feel wrong anymore." He trailed his hand over Harry's bare arm, not quite touching it but hovering over the skin, raising goose bumps all over Harry's body.

Harry raised his free hand and laced his fingers through Draco's, feeling it to be sufficient enough of an answer. He could feel Draco's aura, not dark yellow anymore but a blinding golden once more, burning brighter than ever, wrapping around him and coaxing him almost as much as Draco's hushed words had. Draco had seen how broken he was then. Harry didn't know if he was grateful or upset about this discovery. In a way, it did bring him closer to Draco and made his last traces of resentment disappear. The morning after, he had felt a betrayal of some sort that Draco had been so easily distracted from the broken man hiding inside Harry's eyes, but now that he knew Draco had seen it but also seen Harry's desperation to hide it and so hadn't addressed it at the time, there was nothing left to feel but a protectiveness and resolution towards Draco. If Draco could be mature about this, so could he.

He brought up all the images linking him to Draco, ever since he had first felt that golden aura on the edge of his consciousness. He called them up and they danced around his vision, teasing him and calling on his attention. It took him a while to process them and what he really felt towards each, how surprised and relieved he had been when Draco had first defended his life against his father's wrath, the confusion and hurt he'd felt when Draco wouldn't acknowledge his presence for a long time after that, the rage he'd felt when Draco had screamed at him and clutched onto his shoulders and _demanded _that Harry remember his past, and the loss he'd felt when Draco had flown away from him, the prospect of a friendship forming having flown away with him. He remembered how much his life had taken a turn for the better ever since they'd called a truce and begun a friendship, and how Draco's chattering had filled his days and calmed his homesickness. His acceptance of his new life wouldn't have been possible without him. And then, of course he had to think about his dream and the masturbation as well, and the unmistakable jealousy he'd felt when he'd seen Draco dancing with strangers instead of him.

There was no way around it. Draco fancied Harry, and Harry fancied him right back. He wasn't sure what that said about his sexuality, but he was content to leave it at that for now. One big revelation at a time, thank you very much.

"Draco?" Muttered Harry under his breath, so quietly that he wasn't sure Draco had heard.

"Hm?" Draco replied, obviously half asleep.

"I fancy you too," Murmured Harry softly, glad that Draco wasn't face to face with him to see the resounding blush.

"I know," replied Draco, somewhat too smugly for Harry's liking, and squeezed Harry's hand.

Harry hummed under his breath, not knowing what else to say, and squeezed Draco's hand back.


	16. Memories

**Author's Notes: **Thanks for the review :) Don't worry about it going too fast, there's still plenty bumps they'll have to go over. Yes, I was going to take it fast and then agonizingly slow. This is the set back chapter.

And well, they take nourishment potions once a day, so they can have it for dinner, can't they :P I don't know, it works out in my dream world. Thanks for the question though.

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Memories**

After spending a whole day beside Draco, Harry felt like a spring that was coiled too tightly and needed some space or would snap. Yes, it felt amazing to feel the unconditional support. Yes, he was glad that Draco wasn't pressing him for details and was content to just hold him. But that didn't change the fact that Draco was aware that something had happened that night at the club, big enough to break Harry and traumatise him enough that he'd break down and sob over it without being able to utter a single word of it. Harry wasn't ready to be around someone who knew so much; even if Draco knew nothing for certain and only had a strong suspicion and was even giving him time for coming to terms with it. He went for a fly on his Firebolt to clear some of the confusion out of his mind. It felt no more than an hour, but he must have been out there the whole night because when the sun rose he was still aimlessly roaming the skies. The boundary didn't bother him anymore; he unconsciously turned away from where he knew the barrier to be and flew in another direction.

What Snape had told him about being so different from who he had been before was still nagging at him. And with not wanting to think about the other issues at hand, he decided to focus on that instead. He wished he could steal a glimpse of that person, of that secret life, see who he had been, who his parents had been, what his life had been like.

He was sitting on the lawn near the Manor when Draco found him. They sat there in silence for a while, enjoying the warm weather.

"Did I have any friends? You know, before all this?" Harry asked after a while.

"Of course you did," replied a startled Draco.

"Why don't I remember them?" pushed Harry.

"You know why," said Draco quietly.

"No, actually, I don't." said Harry bitterly. "Tell me about them."

"Well, we weren't very close, so I'm not really sure," said Draco thoughtfully. "But you were closest to Ronald Weasley, Merlin knows why. He was an awful ginger, with a horribly big family might I add. Also Hermione Granger, a know-it-all with this big, _big_, brown bushy hair." From Harry's prodding look, Draco sighed, dropped his hands from where he was gesturing to show the exact size of Hermione Granger's hair and went on, "And there was a clumsy and forgetful Neville Longbottom you were awfully fond of protecting. He turned out pretty badass in the end, though I'm not sure what you saw in him in the beginning; awfully squeaky, that one. Oh, and, Hagrid. He was the gamekeeper at Hogwarts," added Draco disdainfully. "part Giant."

"Yeah?" Mused Harry, a smile playing around on his lips. "Sounds like you loved all my friends, then."

"It's not my fault you had such a horrible taste in friends," replied Draco. "I did offer my friendship, of course, and you took that weasel and mudblood over me."

Harry felt something tingle inside of him at the word 'mudblood.'

"Don't call her that," he said with a frown. "She was the smartest witch in our class."

Draco looked up at him with surprise and Harry raised a hand to his mouth. He knew the words he'd spoken to be true, but not at all sure where it had come from.

"You remember her?" said Draco faintly. "Are you starting to remember?"

"Just bits and pieces, same as before," said Harry, unfused now that he couldn't remember anything more.

"Well, what if you don't try so hard to remember?" suggested Draco breathlessly. "What if you try and talk about them, like just now, and see what else comes tumbling out.

"Er," mumbled Harry. "I don't know. I can't think of anything to say."

"Right," sighed Draco disappointedly. "Don't worry, it'll come to you."

After a few more minutes of silence, Harry became aware of the sad faraway look on Draco's face.

"What's wrong?" He asked softly.

"Hm?" Replied Draco distractedly. "It's nothing."

"What?" Said Harry more playfully.

"It's just that you remember her." Draco said evasively, frowning slightly.

"I thought you were happy that I did?" Said Harry, confused.

"Yes," Said Draco reluctantly. "But she's not even here, and yet you remember things like who she was."

Harry frowned, not sure where this was going.

"You don't remember _me _Harry," Said Draco, barely whispering, looking down at his hands. "and I'm right here."

"I do!" Said Harry hurriedly. "I remember that we used to…" he swallowed hard, not sure of what to say.

"That we used to fight all the time?" Draco said bitterly.

Harry nodded silently.

"And?" Prompted Draco.

"And that we were on opposite sides of the war," finished Harry unwillingly, knowing that Draco was looking for a different answer but unable to give him one. He saw the pained look in Draco's eyes and felt his anger rise up. He couldn't help not remembering. It wasn't as if he wished it to be this way.

"Is it that you don't want to remember me, Harry?" snapped Draco. "I bet that's it, isn't it? Why don't you just admit it?"

Harry looked into Draco's narrowed eyes and felt his own anger rise. It wasn't in his control! The bits and pieces that he did remember where all triggered; accidents. They weren't even the ones that he was most interested in remembering. They were pretty much useless facts that didn't help him one way or another. And here Draco was, snapping at him that he just wasn't trying hard enough, that he didn't care enough, to remember their past. Hadn't he, just last night, given him his complete support? Hadn't he said he'd wait for Harry to go at his own pace? It wasn't as if he actively tried not to remember his past! He did cherish this chance at a new life, but it would be nice to remember, to not be a living contradiction of whom he used to be and who he was now. At least, according to Snape and Draco, he was this contradiction. Maybe they hadn't known him well enough. Maybe he'd always been this person, but they hadn't been allowed to see inside his walls. But there was no way to know for sure, so yeah, remembering and having some reassurance would be nice. He was a stranger to himself and that wasn't the way it was supposed to be. He remembered Lucius' words from long ago, telling him that it wasn't memories that made a person, it was the heart. He dismissed it for now. He had so many insecurities lately and knew that they would be soothed if only he could know who and how he used to be. Draco had the nerve to push him about remembering again, when the memory of him digging into his shoulders was still fresh in his mind. The betrayed look in his eyes as he'd told Harry that if he didn't remember flying then he possibly couldn't be Harry. A dark rage rose in him at the foul taste that the memory brought to his mouth.

"I thought you wanted me to go at my own pace. I thought that when you said you'd wait for me to be ready, you meant it in all aspects." He snapped, getting up. He felt bitter and cold. "Or were they just empty promises? I should have known better, yeah?"

"Harry," said Draco, pleadingly. "Can't you see why it hurts that you remember that mudblood over me? You said you cared about me, but evidently you care more about her, if you can remember her and not me."

"Don't call her that!" Harry shouted angrily. His whole body shook. He'd never thought he'd feel so much rage directed at Draco. Even that night when he'd been trying to put the blame on Draco, deep inside he'd known that he shouldn't be angry at him. But now, now he was truly seething with rage. "Screw you, Malfoy. You obviously don't know me at all. I hardly ever even feel like a real person, cut off from my memories as I am. Do you know how disconcerting it is when everyone knows you better than you know yourself? Or thinks they do? Maybe I do care about her more than I care about you. I wouldn't know, would I? I don't how my flash backs work, or what triggers them. You think I have to listen to everything you say? That any idea that passes through your head is golden and I have to go with it with no complaint? It was your bright idea to go to the club and look what happened!"

Harry's eyes went wide and he brought a hand to his mouth, not having meant to say those last words. He thought he'd forgiven Draco. He didn't know this bitterness still resided in him. He trumped off to his room, feeling hollow inside once more. Draco had been the one thing that had made sense, and now he'd ruined it. He'd trusted Draco to take care of him at the club, and he'd let him down. Then, he'd trusted Draco to support him through his coming to terms with his new life and new feelings, and Draco had just let him down once again. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it wasn't logical to feel this angry, especially since he could feel Draco's genuine hurt and belief that Harry cared more about long lost friends who had dumped him here with the last criminals of the war and forgotten about him than he did about Draco. He also knew that part of his outbreak had been his desire to push Draco away in order to get some of his space back because in all reality he wasn't ready yet for anything close to a relationship with anyone, be it Draco or someone else. But he irrationally tore all those logical thoughts away. He didn't feel like being logical. He felt angry, and he could deal with anger, whereas he couldn't deal with confusion and doubt very well at all.

He slammed the door in Shabby's face when he got to his room and almost drained his nourishment potions in the toilet as some rebellious act against who knows what. In the end, he cursed Draco but took the potions anyway. He wasn't sure what else to do in his room. Now that he wasn't supposed to use his magic anymore, he felt oddly aimless. There was nothing to do in this place. Nothing but read books and sleep. He was so very tired of sleeping. He threw his pillows around and then started throwing the books at the walls too before he felt guilty enough to stop, an image of Lucius snarling in his head.

He went rummaging through his huge dresser, throwing underwear around and trying to count exactly how many pairs of socks he evidently needed. Eventually, he ended up on the armchair by the window, looking outside and seeing nothing. The room was in a state of mayhem around him, the perfect representation of how he felt inside.

xXx

By the time a gentle knock came at his door, he felt carved out of stone. He wasn't sure how long he'd stayed in the same position, but his whole body felt stiff.

"Harry?" trailed in Draco's soft voice.

A wave of annoyance and then misery rolled over Harry. Why couldn't he be left alone?

"What happened here?" said Draco as he took in the mess in the room.

"I redecorated," mumbled Harry.

"I can see that," replied Draco apprehensively. "Can we talk?"

"I'm busy," replied Harry.

"Doing what, exactly?" asked Draco cautiously.

"Looking at the rain."

"Don't be ridiculous," replied Draco with a frown. "You know it never rains here. It's conditioned weath-" He was cut short as he finally took his eyes off the mess in the room and glimpsed out the windows. It had been so ingrained in him that the weather was always sunny here that his brain continued to reject what he was seeing for several minutes. "How?"

"Well, you see, a cloud comes along," replied Harry slowly with the air of someone explaining something very obvious to a two-year-old. "and then another one-"

"I know that!" snapped Draco. "But it's impossible. We get perfect weather under the barrier."

Harry shrugged, not bothered by the situation as Draco seemed to be.

"It's you!" Murmured Draco suddenly. "You're making it rain!"

"Now, what makes you say that?" Asked Harry irritably.

"Because you're glowing blue," pointed Draco.

Harry looked down at himself, still irritated at how insane Draco was being.

"If this is a joke, Draco," warned Harry. His threat died in his throat when he saw that he was indeed glowing. A fine sheet of blue shimmering smoke was covering his body, invisible unless he concentrated on it. "Oh."

"Yeah," replied Draco. "I guess you felt gloomy enough to make it rain."

Harry looked up at the amusement in Draco's eyes and felt his annoyance rise up anew.

"I wonder who made me _gloomy_," he said dangerously. "Get out, Draco. I want to be left alone."

"Fine," snapped Draco. "Continue being unreasonable, see if I care."

Harry watched Draco as he turned to leave, rage boiling inside him. _He_ was the one being unreasonable? For a moment, he wished Draco would turn back so that Harry could come up with a witty reply that would burn Draco for days on end. As it was, Draco kept on walking and shut the door behind him with a definite bang. A sudden sadness took over him. At this rate, he would soon burn all their bridges. Then, it wouldn't matter anymore if he could remember his past. He would _become_ his past, in constant enmity with Draco.

All the regret he'd felt about being angry at Draco came back to bite him. He knew he was just pushing Draco away because he was scared of the intimacy and losing his best friend. He also knew that lately he'd acquired a harsh look at reality and anything would set him off. But he didn't have to grow up and get over it if he didn't want to. Draco was acting immature, and he could best him at his own game. He sighed in resentment, stopping that thought in its tracks. This wasn't getting him anywhere. His memories weren't as important as his friendship with Draco was, and yet they were ruining everything. From the moment he'd felt that golden aura, he'd wanted nothing else than to be close to its owner. Why was he destroying his life this way? Why was he acting every bit a petulant teenager? His head was a mess of emotions fighting over each other, and he felt so tired, and so tired of being tired. He banged his head against the window. Somewhere in the distance, a thunder rumbled.


	17. Open Your Eyes

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews! In response to the confusion about Harry having been outside the barrier… I'm afraid you misunderstood me. I'll try to explain it as clearly and briefly as I can. In this story, the wizard world is separated into two parts: first are magical towns and cottages all around the world where the normal wizards and magical creatures that had been on Dumbledore's side of the war live happily ever after. That's where Ron and Hermione and all of Harry's friends live, unaware that Harry is awake. The other part is the towns and villages shrouded under sphere shaped barriers. They're scattered all around the world, same as normal wizarding towns and cottages are, but they're filled with criminals or people who were on Voldemort's side of the war. These are places under the sphere shaped barrier that won't let the criminals leave or other wizards get in. Both the Malfoy Manor and the bar they went to, the Mist, as well as the house the guy took Harry to, are placed under barriers and can therefore only be accessed by the people trapped under the barrier; that is, Death Eaters, criminals, dark wizards and their house elves. It's kind of a replacement for Azkaban, really. They're basically in jail, but with much more freedom. It cannot be accessed by people from outside the barrier, like Ron or Hermione. Owls are completely out, they can't cross the barriers. Their floo network only connects the places with barriers over them. So they can floo from the Mist to the Manor, but not to Hogwarts because that's not a place under a barrier. Imagine all the wizards living under barriers with tag A and normal wizards outside them with tag B. If you have tag A, you can't be in places without barriers over them, it just doesn't accept your presence, and people with tag B similarly can't go under the barrier which refuses to accept people of those tags.

The places under the barrier can be connected to each other like maybe a whole town close together under one huge barrier, or they can be separate and far away, the way that the Manor is separately placed under a barrier of its own. Imagine lots of balls (the sphere shaped barriers) places far and wide away from each other, connected to each other by thin threads (the floo network system). You can't walk between them because it would mean having to bypass the barrier. But you can go inside the thread (tunnels of the floo powder network) and travel from ball 'A' to ball 'B'. That's how you would get from the manor to the Mist. Each ball is one location. One ball can be someone's house, one can be a shopping mall, and one can be a school for the people who live inside the barrier. The wizarding world with the Ministry and the barrier world are two separate worlds that cannot be crossed under any condition; unless the Ministry decided to take the barrier down, of course.

Now, Harry lives in the manor and the manor is one of the places under the barrier, so he couldn't go to the burrow where Ron lives because it is situated in the outside world and not under the barrier. But he can visit the Mist, a club that is also under the barrier, however far from where the manor it may be. To get to these other places scattered around that are under the barrier, they mostly travel via floo powder and so the tunnels that connect their fireplaces together. While situated in either the manor or the Mist, Harry would be under the protective sphere. But if he were to travel between them using floo powder, a tunnel that connected the manor to the Mist, like the long thread connecting two balls, he would momentarily pass through the tunnel that is between these two protective spheres, say he would be in the thread, and so he'd be outside the protection of the sphere/barrier. And being outside it for a few moments was enough to make him feel nauseated and weak.

But they can't connect with the outside world. The floo network under the barrier only connects the other places that are under the barrier. I hope that made it easier to understand! I do apologize for the confusion. It was a bit hard to explain. It would be easier if I could draw it for you :P

As to the reviews about the fast updates, well, yes, I'm glad you enjoyed it :) It was your reviews that inspired me to write two chapters in one night, more than I had written in a couple of weeks. Knowing that people are reading and/or favourting my stories makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

Sorry for the long note. Won't keep you any longer.

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Open Your Eyes**

Harry knocked gently on the door and hesitantly entered after a pause. He was here because something about Narcissa called out to him. Maybe it was that unlike the other Death Eaters in the house, she hadn't edged away from him. In the month or so that Harry had stayed here, none of the other residents of the manor had crossed his path. He'd been sure he'd run into them eventually, especially because of all his exploring and roaming around the manor at all hours, but it had been all to no avail. He supposed it could have partially been put to how huge and never-ending this place seemed to be, but knew that it was more than that. The only people who didn't avoid him were Snape, Lucius, and Shabby. In fact, the house elf had taken a strange liking to him that would have been creepy had Harry not been so amused by it.

But since he was avoiding the two wizards in the Manor that were incidentally not avoiding him, even Shabby's constant chattering didn't chase away the lonely feeling that had resided deep inside of him. Ducking into dark corridors and empty rooms when a patch of blond hair flickered into his vision was now more of a reflex than a conscious decision. He could still feel the weight of Draco's arm resting over his midsection. He flinched away from empty space, the memory overbearing. At the time, he had been sedated enough after crying long and hard and sleeping soundly that it had felt pleasant to him, though now he couldn't think about it without images of another pair of hands touching him and handling him roughly creeping into his mind. He shuddered, feeling disgusted. He wasn't sure that he could let anyone else touch him like the man from the bar had ever again. He knew that he wouldn't ever give himself to anyone completely again, because of the fear that would never truly leave him and it made him want to track down the man and stare into the uncaring eyes that had dared do this to him, but at the same time made him want to run in the opposite direction till he reached the end of the world and fell over the edge. He had once thought that he knew Draco and could trust him not to hurt him, and now smirked at how wrong that thought had turned out to be. After their fight, it was confusing to decide whether it had been him hurting Draco or Draco hurting him, but he was biased and could believe that it had been Draco hurting him and there was no one else to chide him for it.

It had been at least a week since Draco had walked out of his room and slammed the door shut. He knew he should be moving on. He had put some distance between himself and what had happened, and could see that their friendship was lost, not because of burned bridges, but because Draco wanted to be more than friends and after that night, Harry was scared and not at all ready for anything that felt even the slightest bit out of his comfort zone or hinting at intimacy. Plus, Draco had been overly immature, saying that Harry obviously cared more about friends that had betrayed him than he did about Draco who was here and offering him his love, when Harry couldn't control the flow of his flashbacks or what memories he could access. If Draco had only asked him about it reasonably instead of assuming things, then maybe things wouldn't have ended this way. But it came down to one thing: He knew he couldn't give Draco what he wanted from him. He was too damaged, not even considering his inability to withstand physical intimacy. His memory was ripped half apart; he had no real identity, and he was only a flimsy ghost of a person, trying to hold his act together.

Draco deserved better, he deserved someone who could be real to him. Harry deserved better too. He deserved someone who wouldn't assume they knew him when in fact they knew nothing at all. He deserved the chance to explain himself, at the very least. And it wasn't as if he'd done any wrong. He'd remembered a part of his past. His only crime was that it wasn't a piece of memory that had included Draco. He felt he was being judged too harshly and refused to apologise to Draco for something he didn't see to be his fault.

Somewhere in the distance, someone cleared their throat and Harry snapped out of his reverie. He looked up at Narcissa's amused expression and felt his cheeks burn.

"Are you going to stand there all day long, lost in your thoughts?" Mused Narcissa. "Why don't you join me? There's an extra chair here somewhere."

"Er," mumbled Harry intelligently. Why had he come here for, again? In the end, he had no choice but to drag an armchair out of the corner of the room and place it in vicinity to Narcissa's. He stood there, uncertainty streaming through him. He contemplated leaving, but was more scared of being rude and offending Narcissa than he was of being trapped in a room with her in an awkward silence. And it wasn't as if he had anywhere else to be.

He sat down on the edge of the chair, trying to look anywhere but at Narcissa. He glanced outside. It was a sunny afternoon, a gentle breeze swaying the lighter trees and taller flowers. Unable to help himself, he smiled, thinking of the panicked look on Snape's face as he'd burst into Harry's bedroom last week when it had been raining. He'd been shortly followed by a breathless Lucius who had been somewhat more successful in hiding his emotions.

"What are you doing?" Snape had snapped at him the moment he had turned the doorknob. "Why is it raining outside?"

Harry had rolled his eyes heavenward, brought his hands up exasperatedly, and started in his droning voice once more, that, "Well, you see, first, the wind brings a cloud along. After that, another one collides with it-"

"Oh, very funny!" Snape had turned to look outside the window and then leaned over Harry's armchair dangerously. Harry had stared up at him innocently enough. "Don't give me that look! Stop this now! Messing with something on this scale, do you even remember what I told you?"

"Something about reading lots of informative books?" Harry had said uncertainly, as if straining to remember. He had pointed to a book in his lap, one that Shabby had brought him, and watched with mute interest as Snape turned various shades of red.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry," Lucius had begged, "stop it now! We don't need the attention of the Ministry on us! If they come and find you awake and well…" he'd trailed off then, looking at Harry with genuine worry.

It had shocked Harry so much that he'd forgotten about feeling gloomy and had distractedly noted the rain coming to a sudden halt outside.

"What would that mean? If they found me, I mean?" he'd asked quietly. "They'd take me away, wouldn't they? Back to my friends. My family."

Lucius had looked at Harry for a long while. Then, he'd leaned in front of him by the window, and put his hands grimly on Harry's shoulders.

"You've seen what they've done to us, Harry. You know it's wrong. Are you sure you want to go back to them?" Lucius had asked him seriously. "To friends that you can't even remember? The ones who left you in here, gave up all hope on you ever waking up? The world has moved on and left us all behind, you alongside with us. The time of villains and heroes is over, Harry. There's no place for us out there anymore. They've strung us inside here, demon and angel alike. Even if the Ministry knew you were awake, I'm not sure they'd do anything about it but keep it under covers. You've been here awhile. You've seen their true faces. You're someone with enough power and status to stand up to them and call out their wrongs, and people will listen to you and rise and have your back, Harry. You'd lead a revolution against them and they'd fall to their knees. They know that. They won't take the risk."

_Or maybe they'd just get rid of me for good,_ Harry had thought emotionlessly.

A soft hand touched his own and Harry was startled out of his thoughts a second time. He looked at Narcissa's gentle expression and saw that through her eyes he would look like such a mess. Smiling to himself one second and looking grim the next, he must seem crazy. But looking into those soft blue eyes, he saw nothing but understanding. With a soft sigh, Narcissa took her hand back and started talking.

"The first time I saw your mother," said Narcissa, staring out the window. "The fire inside her surprised me. Lily Evans was a strong person. She was determined. It was more than having a goal and chasing it. It was as if she was completely sure that she would achieve whatever it was that she set out to do.

"I thought to myself that she would make a great Death Eater," continued Narcissa matter-of-factly. "I didn't know her well, of course, only through the little I could see of how she behaved briefly in passing."

Harry found himself leaning back in his armchair, gazing out the window, thankful that he could leave his own painful memories and lose himself in Narcissa's instead.

"She was younger than me, five years or so, I think," Narcissa went on. "She got married to your father, James, before the age of twenty. She was always so sure of having him by her side, of having a loving family. Of growing old together with the ones she loved, surrounded by her children and grand-children."

Harry looked at Narcissa sadly. Her tone was wistful, interlaced with the loss of bright hopes and dreams.

"We didn't know how life would play out then," sighed Narcissa. "We were all young and so sure of ourselves. In the end, it all came down to protecting our families." She looked at Harry sadly. "I know that right now you feel lost and alone in the world, Harry, as anyone in your position surely would. But you're not alone." Narcissa shook her head gently. "Lily and James, they would never truly leave you. You're not lost or alone. You've just chosen to turn off the light. To shut them out."

Narcissa reached over and put her hand over Harry's heart, locking eyes with him.

"They'll always be right here, Harry. I know it. I know that if it had been me…" Narcissa's voice broke. "I would never have left Draco."

Harry felt as if someone had been gripping his heart in a dead hold for too long and now had finally let go. He felt a weight lift over his shoulders and felt himself breathe as if for the first time. He wasn't sure what had happened just then, but that something inside him had changed. As if he'd decided that he didn't want to be miserable anymore. Narcissa knew what he was missing. She shared his grief. He wasn't alone after all. He wasn't that cut off from his past. After all, these people here were from his past, and his parents were from his past, and they were still here with him. He hadn't lost all connection. He only needed to reach out, ask for help, and he'd have their support in a heart beat. He felt a warmness spreading inside him and looked at Narcissa gratefully. She'd shone him he wasn't alone, and that's all that he'd really needed. What was it with the Malfoys and knowing how to give him what he needed when he needed it? He sighed and let go of that thought before it would make him think of the disaster with Draco again.

They spent most of the afternoon enjoying the warmth of the sun inside the chilly room of the Manor. When Harry broke the silence, he hadn't really meant to ask the question that had been circling around in his head, and so as his voice suddenly broke through the silence, it surprised himself as much as it did Narcissa.

"Why don't you ever leave this room?" He asked.

Narcissa took a while to collect her thoughts. It took long enough that Harry started to regret his question. Now that he thought about it, it seemed like a rather personal question. He was about to tell Narcissa that it didn't matter when she answered his question with one of her own.

"Why do you shun Draco?"

Harry wondered for a second how she knew that, and dismissed the thought, knowing that of course being cooped up in a room didn't mean that she didn't know about things that went on in her own house. Asking about Draco, her tone had been thoughtful and not invasive, and maybe that was why Harry found himself answering her without feeling defensive.

Or maybe it was because he'd been dying to talk to someone about Draco, to confide in someone about how lost and confused he felt. He wanted to protest that Draco was too demanding, that he frustrated Harry to no end and knew exactly how to push his buttons. He thought about everything that he wanted to say, about how he wasn't ready, how Draco was immensely unreasonable, about how damaged he was and how they both deserved someone better.

He looked into Narcissa's wise and enquiring eyes, ready to start whinging, and all of his words escaped him. Because deep down, he knew that they were all excuses. He knew that Draco had offered him time and space, knew that he loved pushing Draco's buttons as much as Draco loved pushing his, knew that Draco was as damaged as he was, if not more. After all, he'd been insecure enough to feel a stab of betrayal when he'd felt that Harry cared more about his past friends than Draco, and Harry could certainly relate to that. If he'd been the one to think Draco put someone else before him, he would have made an even bigger deal out of it than the one Draco had. And then when Draco had come to his bedroom, possibly to apologise, he'd hurt him even more by continually ignoring him instead of reassuring him that he couldn't control his flashbacks and random pieces of memory and that if it were up to him then of course he'd rather remember Draco. He was to blame for this just as much, if not more, than Draco was. This all came back to one thing.

When he opened his mouth, the words that came out sounded small, as if from far away. "I'm scared."

Narcissa nodded and gently squeezed his hand in reassurance. "We all are. We all have our demons. You're not ready to face yours, and I'm not ready to face mine."

After that, Narcissa apparently thought that they had had enough serious conversations, because she changed the subject and asked if he really had been behind the rain last week. When Harry informed her that it had been an accident, more or less, she continued to tell him about some of her own magical spells that had spiralled out of control and had turned out disastrous.

When the door creaked open and a shadow fell through it, both Narcissa and him were laughing loudly, Harry tearing up uncontrollably.

"…And he had to go on living his life upside down for a whole year pretending it was his own choice rather than a curse because he was too proud to admit it!"

Harry held onto his sides, laughing painfully. He felt light headed and so free. It had been a very long time since he'd laughed this freely. It felt amazing.

The door opened further and drew Harry's eyes. He felt himself crash into the ground harshly and the smile faded off his face.

"Yes, well," continued Narcissa, wiping a tear away. "That was when I learned that some pranks were worth the trouble."

She followed Harry's gaze to the door and the shine in her eyes dimmed considerably.

"Enjoying yourself, are you, Mother?" Draco said dryly. His eyes were set in stone, and yet Harry could read the hurt and betrayal in them. He wished desperately to take it all back, all the laughter. Draco probably had thought that he was somewhere on his own feeling miserable, and here he was, laughing hysterically with Narcissa.

"Dinner is ready. If you choose to join us this time, Mother," he added when neither Narcissa nor Harry responded. "But it's understandable if you wish to stay here, since you find the company more enjoyable_._"

Harry flinched as if Draco's tone had been dripping with acid, when in fact his voice was as remote and emotionless as his eyes had been. When Draco left, it only took him a couple of minutes of biting his lip to become restless and wish to disappear in his guilt.

"I think I'd better leave," he whispered and shot off his seat and across the room.

"Harry," called Narcissa. "Don't shun him for too long. He deserves some good in life."

"Then I suppose you should join him for dinner if he's been asking you every night."

Harry closed the door behind him, not turning to see Narcissa's expression, but hearing her gasp. He immediately regretted snapping at her and felt so weighed down by guilt that he was sure he'd drown in it soon.


	18. Out with the Old

**A/N: **Thanks for the review :) I'm glad you're enjoying poor tortured Harry.

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Out with the Old**

Harry lay awake in his bed, watching the ceiling above him. It was an especially dark night outside, but he'd come to learn that the enchanted ceiling of his bedroom always showed him what he wished to see, and so a starry sky stared down at him. Every time he had a nightmare, he would wake up and look at all those bright dots of light from galaxies far away and their light comforted him.

He imagined it to be the feeling of being a little kid and running to his parents' bedroom to wriggle himself in between them in a safe haven, a place where his nightmares couldn't reach him. He knew that when his parents had died he hadn't been old enough to do that, but somehow was able to recall the warm feeling of arms enclosing around him and keeping him safe. When he looked up at the stars, he could imagine what being safe felt like. He would watch them for hours on end, mesmerized, losing himself in a happier world.

His eyes glanced down towards the door. They stayed locked onto the wall next to it, exactly where Draco had leaned on, thinking and waiting for Harry to wake up. He supposed he'd never wake up to that scene again. Ever since walking in on them in Narcissa's room, Draco had become even more distant and bitter. It was worse than when Harry had first woken up and Draco wouldn't even make eye contact. At least then Harry didn't know the reason behind it. Now every time that he passed Draco in a hallway and Draco acted as if he didn't exist, he felt on the verge of breaking down and screaming at Draco to look at him.

He wasn't sure how it had become like this. That peaceful day spent in Draco's bed, their bodies twisted around each other, seemed like eons ago, a far away dream. He firmly believed it to be his fault, an outbreak that was meant to be painful and to drive Draco away, one that had worked too well. Yes, Draco had been the original reason he'd lost control of his temper, but he should have seen Draco's insecurities for what it had been. He knew Draco was used to hiding behind a mask. He should have seen through it. After all, Draco had so far seen through all of Harry's masks. Now he was unsure if the accident was at all reversible. A moment of feeling pressured and snapping out had lead him to the path that had cost him his best friend, a best friend that could have been much more than that if only Harry had exercised his never-ending patience when it mattered most and had held his tongue instead of lashing out to hurt in a moment of fear and doubt.

He did consider going to Narcissa and apologizing to her, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't feel ready yet. He'd started living inside his head, having imaginary conversations with Draco, dreaming up scenarios in which everything somehow worked out and went back to the way it was before. In them he had also made up to Narcissa, numerous times in numerous ways, but ending always the same: her saying that of course she forgave him and both of them exchanging a warm smile; something that was definitely never going to happen in reality.

In his conversations with Draco, pictured with high detail in his mind, he'd look sheepishly at him, Draco would look lovingly back at Harry, and they'd hug it out, murmur some comforting words, and forget that something had ever come between them.

This was also highly unlikely, especially when Draco was dead set on ignoring Harry's existence. Harry was sure every inch of him was consumed with guilt overlayed with even more guilt. After all, if it had been hismother who wouldn't talk to anyone, not even her husband or her son, and stayed up alone in her room, he also would have felt completely betrayed had Draco come along and sat there with Lily, laughing until he got a stitch in his side.

Harry didn't know how to bring Draco back. He knew what Draco wanted to hear from him, he knew that Draco wanted Harry to give them a chance at a relationship and knowing that Harry cared about him more than he cared about anyone else, the same thing that Draco had more or less confessed to. But that was not what he wanted. He wanted Draco's company, his friendship. He wasn't ready to have a relationship. Not with Draco, nor with anyone else. He couldn't manage it with what he was going through right now. He didn't need something else to worry about. He'd have to constantly try to do everything right or chance hurting Draco. He'd have to worry about Draco's feelings and his problems and his life just about as much as his own. He had enough on his plate as it was.

His memories of his past life were lately seeping through his nightmares, but were just that to him: nightmares. He'd have to go through them in the morning over and over again, pausing on the parts that aroused recognition in him, wondering if they were real memories of his old life or just a part of his imagination and the nightmare. It wasn't a pleasant process, but it was all he had and could do to bring some of his old life back. Every night he hoped and prayed that some memory concerning Draco would come back so that he could offer it as some compensation in his winning argument to get Draco back. It was the only reason he could bear the nightmares, the reason he even welcomed them.

Snape had offered him the purple dreamless sleep potion, saying that even though it would weaken the effect of the nourishment potions somewhat, it would give him dreamless sleeps. He had turned it down and in Snape's dark eyes had seen a flash of grim understanding.

These days the only company he had were Snape and Shabby. Shabby only hovered over him worriedly most of the time, asking him if he was alright. Whenever he looked in the mirror, he understood why. He had dark circles under his eyes that were so permanently etched into his skin that even the healing properties of the sphere didn't seem to be able to do anything about them. He looked thinner than he had when he had first woken up; which was saying something considering he had been in a coma at the time. Apparently he wasn't thin enough for the sphere to feel was dangerous, but his cheekbones stood out and made his eyes seem hollowed in and darker than before. With all of that, plus his messy dark hair always sticking out on end, he had the look of a disturbed teenager.

Avoiding both his reflection and Draco were mostly the reasons why he spent the majority of his days in bed, watching the patterns that the stars made in his enchanted ceiling, while listening to Shabby's chattering. He did try reading some books once or twice, but his mind never stayed on the page and he found himself staring blankly at the same paragraph without the faintest idea of what he had just read.

Even flying wasn't what it used to be. It was still as exhilarating as ever; he was sure that the wind blowing in his face would never be anything less. But instead of the freedom it usually offered, now it seemed hollow without Draco by his side, or cheering him on from the grass under.

He couldn't help hating Draco for taking all of this away from him, and hating himself for driving Draco away in the first place. He thought that if their only argument had been the memory-centred one, then they would have gotten over it by now. But the incident with Narcissa had been so great a betrayal in Draco's eyes that it was beyond ruined now. Every day that he spent in misery, he despised Draco, Narcissa, and himself the most. He didn't understand why he couldn't just move on, forget about Draco, live his life the way he had before Draco had come along with his witty jokes and intoxicating stories and those intelligent eyes, brightened by his charming smile.

He thought about doing something insane, like dyeing his hair an extreme colour. He was wondering how red or purple would look on him when he remember the strange hairdo of the nameless man from the club; dark hair with lighter tips, and pushed away thoughts of doing anything to his hair.

He thought of taking on a new hobby, which was what brought him to Snape. He'd run around Snape's study-slash-potion-brewing room, getting various ingredients for him. Snape had only reluctantly suggested it after seeing how utterly dejected Harry felt, and Harry had brightened up slightly, announcing that he would be the best ingredient-snatcher the world had ever seen. Snape had seemed baffled by his excitement at first, but their daily routine of working silently side by side had become so habitual that when Harry was even a few minutes late, it would throw them both off for a good portion of their time spent there.

Harry wasn't quite sure why Snape made so many potions. Surely locked away as they were, there wouldn't be such a great need for so many potions. At first, he had believed that Snape only brewed so many potions to have something to do, but had been soon proved wrong. Explaining to Harry somewhat patiently that there was a vast world out there, even under the barrier as they were, with a lot of people living cut-off from the resources of the outside world, the need for healing potions and nourishment potions was great.

Now, Harry didn't even need to be told what ingredients to bring for Snape's awaiting hand. He was so used to the colour of the different potions foretelling what they were and what ingredients they needed in various stages that he only dashed around the room, grabbing a glass vial from here or a dash of powder from there. He had learned with some difficulty and after some heavy supervision and high expectations how to evenly cut roots or crush petals perfectly. Snape never let him near the actual potion, saying that the art of potion making was too vast for the old Harry and was definitely beyond his talents now. It was hard to be offended by that, Harry preferred all the running around and concentration he had to put into getting the right ingredients and being on his feet where he didn't have time to let his mind wander off to more depressing thoughts. Standing over a potion and waiting for it to get to the right temperature would leave him with all this extra time that he'd surely spend wallowing in his sorrows.

And so that's what his new life consisted of: laying in bed watching far away stars that ushered words of protection, reassuring Shabby that his life was not falling apart, avoiding his reflection in the mirror at all costs when he brushed his teeth, flying around on his Firebolt to enjoy the first light of day or to get some exercise to cheer him up when he was feeling especially down, and helping Snape make business.

He was used to it, had even grown to enjoy it. Then why did it feel so wrong, so empty, without Draco?

He turned over in his bed. It was true that he had accepted this new life and the nightmares that visited him every night, but it was still hard to coax himself into sleep sometimes, knowing that nothing pleasant awaited him in the dream world.


	19. In with the New

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews :) Sorry to announce that Harry's misery is going to go on for a bit longer, but he will soon be very happy indeed. I don't think Snape is the only potion maker they have, but he is definitely the best one. And he enjoys it too, so it's a win-win.

This chapter is dedicated to **Srienia **because of the PG-13 images that Harry's going to be viewing in his enchanted ceiling.

**Chapter Nineteen**

**In with the New**

Harry woke up panting. He was drenched in sweat and his pillows and sheets were tangled together, thrown onto the floor from all of his kicking around and turning from side to side. He remembered something about being on a chess board in his dream, a huge life-sized one, with similarly large chess pieces. He'd been caught in a deadly game. The harder he tried to call forth the details however, the more they seemed to evade him. It was more of a relief than an annoyance to be forgetting the dream –he had felt so trapped in the nightmare. He had felt his hands perspiring from all the anxiety and his heart had been racing. He wondered if it was a real memory from his past.

_Draco would know,_ he thought sadly. If only they were on speaking terms, he'd be rushing to Draco's room right now, pouring out all his fears and worries, seeking out comfort and reassurance. He stared at the ceiling, wondering who the other two people in his dream had been. He couldn't recall their faces, or their names. He knew that the three of them were trapped in the game of chess together, but not much more.

What happened next was so surreal that he had to blink several times to make sure he was really seeing right. His enchanted ceiling that had been showing him a cloudy day was now swirling into blurred colours and turning into black and white squares, forming a chess table.

Harry tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Up until now, he'd believed that his ceiling would only show him the skies that he wished to see, whether they were starry nights, rainy days, or anything else his mood wished to call forth. But now, he realized that the ceiling was enchanted to show him anything he projected onto it, not just the sky. He thought of the huge chess pieces, and the life-sized pieces immediately appeared on the ceiling in their correct places on the chess board. He poured more colour and life into the image, feeding it with all that he could remember from his dream. Gradually, the picture sprang into life, the dream playing out in front of him on its own accord. It was no longer a mere projection of his thoughts; it was showing him details that he had completely forgotten about.

Harry watched it play out; knowing what was going to happen next, but unable to change it in any way. It was amusing to watch the younger version of himself take the place of a missing piece on the board and take part in the game. Now that he wasn't in the nightmare and couldn't feel the choking fear he had then, he could pay more attention to the other people who were there with him. He stared at the ceiling, mesmerised, as the two people in his dream came into focus. He saw a ginger haired boy who was apparently in charge of the game.

_You were closest to Ronald Weasley, an awful ginger with a horribly big family,_ Draco's words echoed in Harry's mind.

Tapping into Harry's mind, the ceiling zoomed onto Ron's face, showing Harry a thin and taller boy, ordering the chess pieces around. Harry felt a pang of familiarity and a sense of longing. He couldn't hear a voice, but somehow knew exactly what Ron's voice sounded like.

The other person there was a small girl with brown curly hair, looking at Ron with a mixture of worry and awe. _Hermione Granger, a know-it-all with this big, _big_, brown bushy hair, _Draco had said. The ceiling zoomed onto the little girl's face this time. Her intelligent brown eyes were as familiar to Harry as a scent he knew he'd smelled before but couldn't place. Except that now he knew exactly who Hermione and Ron were. How could he have ever forgotten?

Feeling euphoric as well as nostalgic, he raised a hand towards the ceiling, wanting badly to disappear into the images above and lose himself in that world –a world in which he had people to talk to without being afraid of what he was saying, where he could laugh freely and have someone to laugh alongside him, where he had people to hang out with, people who had been with him for so many years that they knew him better than he knew himself. He wanted to stay up late into the night with them, talking about nothing and everything, having the time of his life.

His hand fell limply back on the bed and he felt a tear trail down the side of his face. He tried to ignore it and focus on feeling lonely and miserable; but since he was lying down, the gravity pulled the drop of saltwater down towards his ear and it started to tickle. He smiled in spite of himself and wiped the tear away. Exhaling deeply, he tried to drive away the nostalgia. The world above him was one that he had already lived in. There was no way of going back, only forward.

Once again, he found himself thinking of Draco. Lately, it had been one guy after the next stumbling after Draco through the house and into his bedroom. At first Harry had been so frustrated that he'd considered pulling all of his hair out. He had entertained the possibility of Draco trying to make him feel jealous, but it didn't seem to be true. For one, Draco always came back with guys after midnight when everyone else was asleep, and his 'guests' always snuck out in the early hours of the morning, as if they had never been there. Being secretive about it was surely not the way to go about making someone jealous.

When Harry had grumbled about it to Snape, he'd gotten a smirk in return. Apparently this was Draco's normal behaviour. Harry thought back to that night in the Mist. Draco had indeed seemed untouchable and a very different person from the Draco that Harry had come to know. Everyone had had their eyes on him.

Harry wondered what it felt like to be in the limelight like that. He knew that in his past life he'd been something of a hero figure, but the only feelings he could recall towards it were a deep dislike for crowds and wanting to stay as invisible as possible. But, Draco, it seemed, enjoyed being the centre of attention and the object of desire more than anything. He never came home with the same person twice. Not that Harry had noticed. He'd only 'accidentally' watched them from the shadows.

Watching Draco walking backwards, fumbling around to find the doorknob to his bedroom while simultaneously snogging one guy or another had made Harry wonder how long a person could go kissing without coming up for air. It seemed impossible to him. But then again, he couldn't remember ever shoving his tongue down someone else's throat.

He'd never stayed to watch Draco for long, and feeling like an intruder wasn't his main reason. Every time he stood there in the shadows, Draco's golden aura would stretch out, creeping towards him. He wasn't sure why this was happening, or what it would do if it reached him, and he'd been very reluctant to find out. As far as he was concerned, he didn't want Draco aware that his actions were bothering Harry this much.

Draco was an enigma to him. He'd thought that Draco had given himself to him, promised to wait for him. He'd thought that he could count on that; that Draco would be the one stable thing in this crazy new world. It felt as if someone should be jumping out of the curtains and saying 'I told you so.'

In the few minutes that he'd been lost in his thoughts, the ceiling above him had started curling in over itself and the colours were blending together. He squinted at it, not used to the transition of the darker colours of the chess board to the bright palette of colours that was spreading in front of his eyes now. It was as if the colours were bleeding through the ceiling, forming shapes that Harry dreaded most, but couldn't stop thinking about nonetheless. The more he thought about each detail, the clearer and more life-like the ceiling's projection of it became, making him recall even more details to be added to the picture that was forming over him.

First, the blond hair came into view. The fine lines that started running through it separated each strand. The light shone onto it and gave it the same soft look that Harry was so used to. Then the image zoomed out of the hair and the shape of Draco's face started to form; all those straight lines and the pale skin that covered the finely-set bones of his face. Harry wished it to stop, begged it to stop. He wanted to forget, not be forced to linger. But the ceiling continued to push him into remembering more. How could he look at that face and not remember those serene eyes? How could he be expected to dismiss the hidden smile there? His eyes, the colour of clouds before a storm, were staring back at him from the ceiling expectantly, as if inviting Harry to join him. Something caught in Harry's throat. He tried hard to peel his eyes away, but they seemed glued to the ceiling. Draco had never looked at him like that; as if they were sharing a secret that no one else knew about, and yet, he felt such a deep yearning for Draco to look at him like that, that he was sure he would break down if Draco looked over him with the same cold expression that he did now one more time.

He lowered his eyes and saw that Draco's face was complete now. It was an exact replica, or as close to it as he could call forth. Now that he was thinking of the cold look in Draco's eyes, the image from above stared down at him with the same closed-off look. A sob broke through Harry and he choked it back. He didn't know why he was acting this way, why he was so overwhelmed by an image alone. It wasn't as if Draco had been the one who'd rejected him. He'd been the one who had rejected Draco. He'd been the one who was too broken for a relationship, he reminded himself mutely.

The image continued to stare at him with blank eyes and Harry was sure that it would haunt his nightmares. How had he made Draco look so cold? How had he muffled the warmth in them, the secret smile? How had he made Draco's walls shoot up so fast that there wasn't any recognition for Harry left in them?

In his mind, he could see the golden aura that cloaked Draco; smell the minty freshness of his clothes. He closed his eyes and took back all that he'd said to him, took back all his anger. Now that he was thinking rationally about it, he could see how he wasn't the only one that was lost here. Draco must be as confused about all of this as Harry was. What else would you expect from someone who was put in that situation? Telling Draco that someone from his past, someone that he'd thought he'd had had an established relationship with was now a completely different person couldn't have been a walk in the park for him. It wouldn't have been uncalled for, for him to break down and try to reason with Harry to remember who he was, and finding reasoning useless, then start screaming at him to give back who Draco knew was engulfed in him somewhere, to give back the Harry that Draco knew and not this stranger who talked and acted and even looked very different without his glasses and the smug, knowing look on his face while addressing Draco. It wouldn't be very far-fetched for Draco to after getting used to the new person that Harry was now, someone he'd even started liking as a person and come to know as a good friend, start questioning if he mattered as much to Harry as Harry did to him, wondering if Harry was making nearly as many sacrifices to admit to having feelings for Draco as Draco was making for him, getting over his old grudges and everything he knew to be true of the maliciousness in Harry when Harry had nothing to get over because he remembered none of it.

Harry rubbed his forehead, a gesture he knew he'd picked up from his old life but wasn't sure what was behind it. Whatever the reason, the gesture seemed to comfort him and help clear his head. Now however, staring at Draco's cold eyes, he didn't think anything would comfort him. He took his eyes off of Draco and stared at the surroundings that were forming behind him on the ceiling. He was fairly sure that he wasn't thinking of the surroundings that were appearing there. Thinking back to his nightmare and how it had started playing on the ceiling as if it had a life of its own, he realized that the image of Draco was also becoming animated. He was watching Draco, the real Draco, wherever he was right this second.

Harry pulled a pillow over his face, grunting into the soft material; sure that Draco would start shouting at him about being a stalker. When nothing happened after a couple of minutes, he peeked from behind the pillow cautiously, realising that Draco wasn't able to see him. The enchanted ceiling seemed to work as a one-way link. Harry exhaled in relief, pulling the pillow away from his face.

There was a small part of him that was disappointed. He had been readying himself for a confrontation with Draco, of having to explain that the ceiling pulled the images out of Harry's head, and that he couldn't help thinking about Draco so it wasn't really his fault that this had happened. He'd even imagined Draco smiling at him softly, saying that he couldn't help thinking about Harry either, and that everything would be alright again.

Life seemed to be more complicated than that, however. Harry stared, mortified, at the Draco that was on his ceiling now. He wasn't alone, the way that Harry had imagined him to be. And as it turned out, Harry had no reason to dread the expression in Draco's eyes, because he had his back to Harry. There was another guy with him and they were in Draco's bedroom; a room that had become familiar to Harry after the long lazy day that he'd spent in it. The room that had once been a safe place to him was now one that he didn't wish to set foot in ever again.

The repulsive feeling that rose inside him was somewhat irrational and too strong a feeling for someone who had just recently gotten over his anger at Draco, but maybe because he'd only started forgiving Draco and considering a way to fix what was broken between them that what he was seeing now was hurting him so much. Draco's hands were holding the bare body under him sensually, securely, as if it was his whole world. His head was pressed against his, whispering sweet nothings; or so Harry imagined. He was thrusting into him with such great gentleness and care that Harry felt sick to his stomach. Where he'd wished he could have heard Ron's voice on the ceiling, he was now glad that there was no sound to what he was seeing. He didn't want to be hearing murmurs of pleasure or what Draco was whispering so passionately. He shut his eyes tight, feeling so very small and insignificant.

Sensing an alien presence in his room, Harry looked at the door quickly, dreading any unwanted company at this moment. How would he ever explain the images on his ceiling? Instead of a person though, he found a thin golden smoke, flowing in through the gap under the door. Recognising Draco's aura, he wondered how it had stretched all the way across the manor to find him. Instead of evading it as he had every time, he lay motionless in bed, watching it crawl closer and closer to him with remote interest. It floated off the floor and up his bed, finally reaching him. It climbed over his hand. It tickled slightly, but other than that, didn't feel like anything other than normal smoke.

It soon engulfed his whole body, reminding Harry of the day he'd spent in Draco's bed very much the same way, covered in his golden aura. Whereas it had felt soothing and right at the time, it now felt out of place. It felt as if Draco should be here. Harry closed his eyes, giving himself over to it.

His whole body froze with shock as something clicked in his mind. He'd felt the same sensation when he'd established a mental link with Snape; as if a bridge was being drawn between the two of them. But that mental link had been muted. He hadn't even detected that it hadn't ended after that night until Snape had pointed it out to him, so remote had Snape's feelings felt to him. But this telepathic link was as radiant as the sun. Various feelings washed over him, feelings that didn't belong to him but were very convincing. For one, he was sure that he was aroused and connected to another body until he looked down at himself. Then, he looked over at the ceiling and saw that Draco was just as rigid. He'd stopped thrusting, holding his head at an odd angle, as if he was straining hard to hear something.

_Oh, shit, _thought Harry. This wasn't what he needed right now.

_Harry? _Draco's shocked voice sounded so loudly in Harry's ears that Harry had to stifle the impulse to look around him to make sure he wasn't actually here. _Why are you in my head?_

_I don't know, _Harry snapped impatiently, trying hard to avert his gaze from the ceiling. _I didn't do this! It's not like I want you in my head!_

He bit down on his lip, immediately regretting what he'd said. He'd only meant to push Draco away, not wanting him to find out that Harry had been spying on him, but he'd sounded harsher than he'd meant to sound.

_Then get the fuck out, _growled Draco, giving Harry a mental shove.

Harry cut the mental connection between them, throwing his arm over his eyes. If he'd had any doubts about Draco actually feeling something for the people he shagged, they were now all erased. He'd felt amazing, or rather, had felt Draco feel amazing. The reason he'd held onto the body under him as if they were his whole world, was that the time spent with them really did mean that to him. There was no way that Harry could fool himself into believing that Draco was doing this as revenge. He really loved doing it, and he didn't care what anyone thought about it. He wasn't fucking those men; he was making love to them.

He'd always known that there had been others Draco was interested in, that he'd had previous experiences. Everyone had moved on with their lives while Harry slept for five years. But after what he had seen and felt, he couldn't help feeling inexperienced and inadequate. Now that he did want Draco back, he wasn't so sure how to go about doing it. Any hopes of being able to win him back with a golden apology were crushed after the unfortunate accident of establishing a mental bond with him and then saying that he couldn't stand having him in his head. He'd burned that bridge all on his own, literally and metaphorically. He wasn't the least bit sure that he could get Draco back at all. But he had to try, didn't he? He glared at the golden aura that had caused this disaster. It was receding from him slowly, as if retreating quietly in shame hoping to go undetected, and let out a sigh of frustration. If it hadn't been for the mental bond, he wouldn't have faced his desire to get Draco back and it would have taken him much longer to get around to it on his own. He supposed he could let it go with just sending it a few more deadly glares.

He looked back at the animated images overhead and felt even less proficient. How could he compete with that? He wasn't so good with apologies, and the thought of having to seduce Draco was enough to send him into a panic-attack. He sank deeper into the bed and pulled the pillow back over his face, groaning loudly. He didn't want to see anymore. He'd seen enough to last him a lifetime. When he peeked at the ceiling again, it was back to showing him a cloudy morning, rays of sunshine pouring down through the small holes created between the grey clouds here and there.

xXx

"You use these hours here as therapy, don't you?" Snape grumbled as Harry continued to whine about his problematic life yet again.

Harry handed Snape a jar of eel eyes begrudgingly. "Well, you don't talk much, do you? I'm only trying to keep the conversation going."

"Right," murmured Snape. "Gone are the days when I could work in blissful silence. Why don't you find someone else to talk to and let me work in peace?"

When Harry went uncharacteristically silent for the next few minutes, Snape sighed reproachfully. "It's not as if you're awfully interested in potions."

Harry continued to sulk, making Snape struggle for something to say. It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy being patronising, especially to Harry, but there was something about being cut off from the rest of the world for so long, seeing your friends wither and not have the ability to do anything about it, that made the prospect of being the cause for misery somewhat less appealing.

"So what are you going to do about Draco, then?" He asked, caving in.

Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. "You tell me. What _can _I do? He's not going to forgive me easily. And he doesn't even look like he cares anymore, either. He probably doesn't even miss hanging out with me. I probably never even cross his mind."

Relieved that Harry was back on his endless chattering, Snape nodded curtly, hoping that his expression wasn't as pained as he felt it to be. He couldn't see why Harry sounded this depressed over something so small. The days when his biggest problems were unrequited love seemed silly and very far away. He kept telling himself that Draco and Harry would soon grow out of it and stop their childish games, but it didn't seem to be happening any time soon.

"What do you think I should do?" enquired Harry quietly, looking at his feet and fiddling with the corner of the table as if it had taken a lot for him to ask this from Snape.

"How should I know? I'm only the potions master," muttered Snape irritably. "And don't ask me for a love potion."

Harry's head fell forwards dejectedly and Snape bit his tongue, cursing himself for developing a soft spot for the lost boy in front of him.

"It's not so much about what you do," he contemplated slowly. "It's more about how you do it. Right now, the only person you care about is yourself," Snape raised his arms defensively under Harry's glare and continued quickly, "which is understandable. But you have to start caring about him too. If you want to show it, you have to mean it."

Harry looked up at Snape with confusion swimming in his eyes.

"Start by accepting that you want to live in this world," Snape advised softly.

The thoughtful silence that continued throughout the rest of the afternoon made Snape so relieved that he didn't even mind it very much when Harry said that he'd be back tomorrow. After all, sometimes, wallowing in your own thoughts in silence became too much and some mindless chattering was welcome.

xXx

"How come the ceiling shows me anything I think about? It only used to show me skies before." Harry asked Shabby curiously. He was sitting cross legged on his bed and turning a book –Defensive Magical Theory– over and over in his hand. He'd hoped to find something to tell him about his own magic, but there was nothing like that in any of the books he'd searched through.

Shabby ran his hand over the strange carvings on the door. "These are enchanted to channel Harry Potter's desires to the ceiling. It will show whatever Harry Potter wishes to see. At first they didn't know Harry Potter very well, so they showed impersonal pictures. Now that the bond is growing stronger, they are more intoned to Harry Potter's desires."

Harry sighed and slumped back against the bed. He knew he should be more interested in it, but he couldn't help wishing that it had stuck with showing him a sky filled with stars instead of all the disturbing images of Draco.

He thought about what Snape had told him. _Start by accepting that you want to live in this world._ He had accepted it, though. He knew that it was impossible to go back to the life he visited in his dreams, knew that it was impossible to penetrate his way through the barrier.

He spent most of the evening practicing his speech in the mirror, thinking of what to say to Draco to make it all okay. By the end, he got so tired of seeing his own blank eyes staring back at him that he decided to try writing it down instead. He went to the large study, seeking refuge. Finding paper and quill was no hard task in there.

Holding a quill seemed strange and alien. He dipped it in the dark ink again, trying out a few more words. He wasn't used to writing, but that hardly mattered. No one was going to read his handwriting besides himself, which was lucky, because the scrawled words were barely readable.

And they all sounded completely wrong. The problem was that he couldn't think of anything to say to Draco. The only things that were in his mind were 'I've seen you naked… twice' or trying to skip that and just say 'I've suddenly changed my mind about not being together for reasons that I can't explain because it would make this really awkward.'

He thought of pulling a Draco and going to Draco's bedroom in the middle of the night and watch him sleep, wait for him to wake up, and have a philosophical conversation with him. But these nights, Draco was never alone in there. The thought of walking in on him with someone else there made his stomach churn.

He thought of doing something nice for Draco to show how sorry he was instead of using the words that he obviously didn't have. But what could he give Draco that he didn't already have? The answer came to him easily: Narcissa. He could give Draco Narcissa back. He knew it was a little more complicated to achieve than buying a box of chocolate and some roses, and he also knew that he hadn't completely forgiven Draco for how he had treated him either; but he wanted his friend back, and he was ready to do anything.

xXx

"I _know_ what you're saying," repeated Narcissa grimly, "and the answer is no."

Harry pulled a chair forward and sat facing Narcissa, forcing her to maintain eye contact with him.

"Isn't it enough that they've cut you off from the rest of the world?" He asked her calmly. "Do you have to cut yourself from the rest of the Manor, from your family, too?"

"It's not that simple," she replied just as calmly. Her eyes were expressionless.

"Yes, it is," said Harry. "I don't see why you can talk to me, but not to anyone else. If there's anyone you should blame for how things turned out, it's me."

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Narcissa. "I could hardly blame you for what the Ministry did to us."

"But you can blame Draco and Lucius?" Asked Harry exasperatedly.

"I don't blame them either," sighed Narcissa. "You've got it all wrong."

"Then help me understand," said Harry matter-of-factly as he leaned back in his chair, making himself as comfortable as possible.

Narcissa looked at him with a pained expression. Harry felt a little guilty for pushing her like this, but he felt that enough was enough. She'd had a sufficient amount of time to come to terms with whatever it was that was bothering her on her own and yet here she still remained.

"Draco's the one that's blaming us," she said softly, looking down at her intertwined hands. "He blames Lucius and me for everything."

Harry was so surprised that she was actually relaying her story to him that he had to run the sentence over in his mind a few times, afraid of missing a single word. Here was his chance to fix things. He wanted to prompt her to continue, but was afraid of cutting her off completely. After a few moments, Narcissa started looking at the window, a wistful shadow falling over her eyes.

"If the Dark Lord hadn't threatened his family, he never would have stayed on his side. He would have run away, saved himself. If not in the beginning, then he would have towards the end. He would have, if not for us. We're the reason he's stuck here now." Said Narcissa sadly.

"Is that all?" Asked Harry gently. "That's not so bad. A hug around and a few soft words should fix that. It's not really all your fault, is it? You can't apologise for being his family, for being people that he cares about."

"That's not all," murmured Narcissa, her head falling forwards. Harry thought he saw a glistening tear. "When he came out to us," her voice broke and she looked at Harry side ways, "told us he's gay," she swallowed uneasily, "we shunned him. I still do." She frowned, lost in thought. "No, at first, we didn't even believe him. Thought it was a bad joke, or that he was doing it to get our attention, that sort of thing. After he brought a boy home and kissed him somewhere he was sure we would see, it finally hit us. Lucius was furious…" she trailed off, biting down on her lip.

"He turned to me, asking me to make Lucius understand. I wouldn't even speak to him. I still refuse to look at him. He felt betrayed by both of us, instead of seeing the uselessness of his… lifestyle… and I fear it became too much. All of the resentment he had been harbouring for us hit him all at once, and he said he'd had enough. Said that we weren't his family, that he'd stuck by us before and we were supposed to stick by him now," Narcissa admitted broken heartedly, forcing back tears. "How can I go out there and face him? I still cannot accept his choices. He insists that we failed him as parents, but we only want what's best for him. How can I talk to Lucius now when he has given up on Draco and lets him freely bring guys to the Manor?"

She looked at Harry desperately. "I can't think about it, about him being… being gay. I can't come to terms with it. It's not something I was brought up to accept, and I'd just try to change him back, try and fix him, and make everything even worse.

"No, no, I'm fine staying right here, away from all of that."

"What does it matter if he's gay or straight? He's still your son. And it's not as if what you were brought up with matters under the barrier. Those rules don't exactly apply here, do they?" said Harry heatedly, leaning forward. "What difference does it make who he falls in love with?"

"Don't tell me you approve of his sexual preference," said Narcissa, screwing up her expression, something that Harry had never thought he would see her do. "You're the one that turned him away because you were scared of a relationship."

"And you're the one who told me to say yes to him, remember?" Harry raised his eyebrows at her and Narcissa sighed, shrugging at his earlier question that she had chosen to ignore.

"If he fell in love with a pure-blooded girl and married her, then they would have a pure-blooded son who would inherit all of this."

"Yes, but what then? There aren't many people here, and probably not many of them are pure-blooded. Sooner rather than later, you would run out of pure-blooded wizards, unless you want to resort to incest, that is," said Harry reasonably. "which would be hypocritical of you to approve of if you cannot even get past homosexuality."

"But what about having a child? You can't have a child with a man," argued Narcissa stubbornly.

"I'm sure there are other options, and that you could cross that bridge when you get to it. I don't see Draco wanting to raise a kid of his own any time soon, do you?" he asked her with a smile.

"No, I suppose not," agreed Narcissa reluctantly.

"I don't think your staying here is solely for the purpose of pushing Draco and Lucius away. I think that on some level, you've already come to grasps with Draco and his preferences, and are instead punishing yourself by staying away. You should stop punishing yourself for this, especially since Draco seems to have already forgiven you. He comes here every night and asks you to go down with him for dinner, doesn't he? You're not making things better by keeping your distance from him. I imagine that all he wants is for his mother to stop being an absent figure in his life, whether or not she accepts him for who he is. I certainly would have, were I in his shoes," coaxed Harry. "Besides, if you want me to agree to a relationship with him, then you're already halfway there to accepting who he is, aren't you?"

"That's different," said Narcissa begrudgingly. "I want him to be happy, I'm his mother. It doesn't mean I want to watch him disrespect us this way."

"He's not disrespecting you," sighed Harry. It was like banging his head against a wall: painful and pointless. "It's who he is."

"He's only trying to establish his independence, telling us to back out of his life, using this horrible lifestyle to achieve it. He'll grow out of it soon enough," said Narcissa mechanically.

"And how long have you been telling yourself that?" asked Harry softly, leaning forward to catch Narcissa's eyes. "Give him a chance, Narcissa. He's still the Draco that you love. Does it really matter if he ever marries a girl or not?

"Stop contradicting yourself. You either want me to accept him, or you want him to be with a pure-blooded girl, feeling miserable. If you really do want me to stop shunning him, then you have to help me by doing this. You have to accept him, so that he'll stop blaming me for stealing you away from him, because that's how he sees it right now. Help me give him his life back and win back his trust." He said pleadingly. "Please."

Narcissa looked at him for a long moment. What she found in his expression apparently satisfied her, because she nodded grimly, stood up slowly, gathered her skirt in her hands, and walked elegantly towards the door. She held it open and paused for a moment, looking at foreign territory, and then stepped over the threshold, holding her head high and her back straight.

Harry frowned to himself, noticing the not-so-hidden and smug smile that he'd seen behind her blue eyes and in the corner of her mouth. He felt like he'd somehow been tricked into this argument, that Narcissa had gotten over Draco's sexuality a long time ago, that she'd simply had no motivation to go out there. He felt like he'd won the argument too easily for it to have been a real excuse, and couldn't help but be thankful that Narcissa had wanted him to feel as if he was contributing to helping Draco instead of saying that she'd accepted Draco on her own and leave Harry out of it. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel grim that she'd manipulated him into using her, the best weapon, to turn Draco first away from him and then back to him, only so that he'd come to realise how much he truly cared for Draco and how badly he wanted him back. He wondered how many months she'd sacrificed to wait for Harry, or how she'd even known that he would even wake up and start falling for her son and would need her guidance to truly see how he had the desire to be with Draco. He went back over the conversation that they had, and could see that he'd been in fact soothing his own prejudice over being gay and not Narcissa's, because she truly had accepted her son. A woman who was that dedicated to saving and protecting her family would have never shunned Draco for such a small reason.

It was true that she hadn't been ready to leave the safety and simplicity of being in this room and observing everything that happened in the Manor, and all that Harry had provided was a push out the door. He hoped that that was enough to make Draco see that he cared and that he was sorry.

He let an amused smile take over his features. He'd have to watch out for Narcissa. She was silent, deadly, and far too observant for her own good.

xXx

Harry sat motionless on the window sill in the library, feeling tired to the bone. He wasn't sure what to do now. Night had fallen and the stars blinked at him from far above. It was a clear night, looking mysterious and otherworldly on the other side of the window. He pressed his hand against the cool glass, a desire for adventure burning in his heart. He wanted to run through the hills, climb the tallest tree, and fly on the fastest broom through the barrier and away from this confusion.

_Start by accepting that you want to live in this world,_ he told himself again sternly. Was that even possible? Did anyone ever accept that this was the world they wanted to live in? Didn't everyone dream of a happier and easier world? But he knew that on a more basic level, there was a sense of belonging that didn't exist in him.

He fell asleep against the cushions in the library, dreaming of a handful of lost objects that he needed to desperately search for and destroy in the wilderness.

xXx

For the next two days, he slept in the library and spent his time swallowed up in the books on the defensive magical section. He lost himself in the spells and the endless choices they offered him for such unlikely situations that he found himself imagining wild scenarios to match what the spells would be used for. He'd gotten to flying dragons and slinging off monsters across the ocean using tsunami-sized waves when someone cleared their throat nervously and he looked up, startled.

Shabby cautiously toddled in between the piles of books that Harry had stacked around him, looking apologetic and worried. His big ears were pasted against his head, his hands hovering uselessly above Harry, not daring to move a book but itching to clean it all up.

"Does Harry Potter sir wish for a change of clothes?" Asked Shabby forcefully, his tone implying that if Harry declined, he'd throw him in the shower and change his two-day old outfit whether he liked it or not.

"Maybe in a bit, Shabby," replied Harry distractedly, sifting through one of the books he'd read a while ago, looking for a spell concerning a giant octopus that he thought would go well when used with his latest scenario.

Shabby crossed his arms and looked at Harry fiercely; ready to start telling him off, when a soft knock on the door distracted Harry a second time and he looked up, thoroughly annoyed now. When he saw an anxious-looking Draco in the doorway, the annoyance slipped off his face and he stood up hastily, toppling a stack of books over. Shabby flew to them and started picking them up frantically, forgetting all about pushing Harry out the library and into the nearest shower.

Harry tried to straighten up his clothes and flatten his hair and cursed this bad timing. If Shabby had arrived sooner and Harry had let himself be cleaned up, he wouldn't look like such a complete mess right now. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, wanting to say something but his mind came up blank. Draco stared back at him with a mirrored expression, begging Harry to start the conversation with his eyes.

"Hi," said Harry awkwardly. There were so many things that he wanted to tell Draco, but not sure that Draco wanted to hear all of them.

"Hey," replied Draco tentatively. He stepped inside the room, taking in what Harry had done to the library for a long moment. "So, you decided to build a fortress… out of books?"

Harry laughed nervously, feeling rather embarrassed, hearing the echo of Snape's words about a 'Potter Fortress'. He had put the books in different piles according to how useful or interesting he found them, ones that he needed for future reference or wanted to reread more thoroughly. At the time, the result had seemed organised to him, but now, he wondered how he'd been able to find his way around anything in this clutter.

"I can find what I want better this way," he explained miserably, sure that Draco would never understand.

"An organised mess," agreed Draco, much to Harry's relief. "Mind, we do have extra shelves in the back that you can stack the books on instead of on the floor."

Harry gave him a sheepish smile, feeling the ice break between them. "So," he said, looking at Draco wonderingly.

"Here we are," said Draco, looking back at Harry the same way. "Look Harry, what you did with my mother-"

"It's fine," said Harry, feeling awkward. It hadn't been him helping Narcissa, more like, the other way around. He couldn't take credit for that.

"No, let me say this," protested Draco. "I treated you horribly and you went out of your way to help my family. I don't know how to thank you, or apologise for turning on you like that."

As Draco said this, Harry felt his heart weigh down by sadness, everything that Draco had done to hurt him replaying itself in front of his eyes. He didn't want to have to go through that ever again. He wanted to be able to trust Draco and know that Draco trusted him too and that they could work their way through arguments and not just give up on what they had.

"I'm sorry too," murmured Harry uncomfortably. "And I'm glad Narcissa's back in your life again."

"Well, we're still working on that," admitted Draco. "But, yeah, I'm glad too."

Draco smiled at Harry warmly, and Harry couldn't help returning it, no matter how uncomfortable he felt caught between streams of apologies.

"She had already come to terms with the whole thing on her own, you know," confessed Harry. "She was only afraid that it was too late. She needed reassurance and a push out the door. She tried to argue with me, but her heart wasn't really in it. She could see the holes in her own argument."

"I'll tip my hat to whoever persuaded my mother to do anything she wasn't ready to do regardless of the situation," teased Draco.

They both fell silent, not sure how to continue the conversation after that.

"Did you sleep here?" Asked Draco disbelievingly after a long moment, pointing at the crushed cushions and Harry's messy appearance.

"Er, no," lied Harry, frowning.

"You did!" Laughed Draco, walking around the room freely now.

Harry smiled in spite of himself, wondering how it was that they were falling back into old patterns so easily.

"Look, Draco," he said reluctantly. "I'm tired of being in this vicious circle with you. Just because we were caught in it in the past, always ending up in arguments and pointless fights that drive us further away from each other doesn't mean that we need to repeat it now. I don't want us to cut each other out ever again. At the very least, I want to stay friends."

"You missed me, huh?" Smiled Draco.

"No, I didn't! I only meant that…" Harry trailed off, knowing that denying it would be useless. He had missed Draco's company, the easy friendship between them that didn't ask for much, the comfortable silence that fell between them when they were lost in their own thoughts but were comforted by the other's company at the same time. "I just need to know that when we fight it won't be the end of things. Because I'm sure we'll fight again, but hopefully not with this magnitude. I need to know that you won't give up on us so easily or not even give me a chance to explain myself. I can see that the way I treated you hurt you badly, but at least I didn't sleep with a gazillion people meanwhile. That did hurt me, especially since you'd said you'd give me time and support, although it also made me realise some necessary truths about myself. I'm ready to forgive you because of that, if you're ready to forgive me my short temper."

"I did do that, yes," said Draco, flinching slightly. "I'm sorry, Harry. I thought if I could remember what my life was like in these past five years before you were in it then I could forget the hurt that sprung up every time I remembered I wasn't the one you cared most about."

"That seems a bit too extreme," whinged Harry. "couldn't you have just asked me about it? Because you are the one I care most about."

"But what about your memories?" Grumbled Draco. Feeling they were on dangerous ground once more, Harry hurried to explain himself.

"I can't control the flow of my memories, no matter how hard I try." Admitted Harry. "It has nothing to do with who I care about the most. I would love to remember memories concerning us, of course I would, because I'd like to get to know you and that's not possible without remembering who you used to be."

"You really do want to remember, then?" Said Draco softly, his eyes glinting. "I thought you didn't, because you didn't want to remember all the fights and painful memories."

"That doesn't bother me," Harry shook his head in denial. "The memories I do remember seem far more painful than a few childish feuds."

"You're remembering more?" Gulped Draco.

Harry nodded, not completely comfortable with the way this conversation was going.

"Will you tell me if you start remembering me?" Whispered Draco.

Harry nodded eagerly.

"Will you stop sleeping with hot, random strangers whenever you get pissed at me?"

"How did you know they were hot?" Mumbled Draco, blushing.

Harry blushed in turn. "Malfoy standards and whatnot," he grumbled, not ready to admit to having stalked Draco around.

"Yeah, Harry, I will." Said Draco more seriously. "I wish I could take back what I did. It seems so petty now."

Harry cleared his throat, not ready to go down this road yet. He had to heal from this, and so did Draco, and having come this far was more than enough for now. He could still feel the pleasure Draco had felt at burying himself in someone else, but at least could now identify the sadness that had mystified him before and he'd dismissed. Draco had known that the pleasure he felt wasn't nearly as good as the one he'd feel if he was with the one he really wished to be with.

"Friends?" Inquired Draco, extending a hand towards Harry.

Harry grasped it firmly and shook it once. "And maybe more."

He made to remove his hand, but Draco's hand was so soft, his skin warm and comforting against his own, and he held onto it; their hands hanging in midair between them, their eyes locked onto each other.

"Right," Draco said after several minutes passed and neither of them made a move. "I better leave," he said, pointing to the door. "Got to torment mother with more stories of my freedom, er, depression, and sense of relief, er, abandonment, during the time she refused to leave her room."

Harry returned his smile with a half-hearted one, not wanting to separate from Draco this fast.

After Draco left, Harry let Shabby drag him out of the library and the cocoon of his books and into the shower. He pulled off his dirty clothes and let the hot water run over his body, putting him in a more relaxed state of mind. After daydreaming for so long that he effectively lost track of how much time had passed and found himself sitting on the floor of the shower, he shook himself and started to glide the soap over his body and then scrub excessively. It wasn't that he cared much about being especially dirt-free, but ever since his night in the stranger's bed after the Mist, he'd never felt completely clean. He felt disgusted now, thinking he'd skipped showering for two days, and scrubbed even harder, looking in disinterest as his skin turned bright red before the soothing wave of the sphere rolled over it and healed it.

Washing his hair didn't take long and he was soon out of the shower, wrapped in two towels, one from his waist down and one covering his hair and upper body. He hurried across the room to his bed, shivering all the while, and lay gratefully under the warm comforter and blankets, covered from the neck down so that he could keep his body heat safely away from the chilly bite in the air after his hot shower. It made him feel like a child, but that hardly mattered since there was no one here to see him and judge his actions.

His eyes fell shut comfortably and his breathing slowed. Feeling completely relaxed, he fell asleep, not bothering to shake the droplets of water from his wet hair.

Shabby smiled softly and closed the door to his bedroom, pleased with how things had progressed today.

xXx

Harry was having the worst nightmare he remembered ever having. It had started innocently enough. He had been on an adventure with his friends, Ron and Hermione. They had been running through narrow alleys, looking for a bathroom to send Ron to, oddly enough. Hermione had been cross about finding a clean one instead of all the ones that had trolls in them, and so they'd been turning everywhere, trying to find a functioning bathroom that Hermione found suitable for Ron to use.

It had turned into a nightmare when they'd went back to their flying car so they could go off and find a better bathroom somewhere else. They'd sat in the car, Harry talking about something that had seemed important at the time, and he'd turned around to see why no one was responding to him. A green flash had went off in the distance, and with it, Hermione was pulled into the absolute darkness that had trapped Harry in a coma for five years, reaching out to Harry in desperation. He'd tried pulling her back, tried with all his might, but it had been no use. After that, a second green light had flashed, and Harry had turned with fright to catch sight of a frantic Ron disappearing the same way Hermione had, trying to hold onto Harry, but being sucked into the darkness in the end.

And then, a third green flash had illuminated Harry's surroundings. A great whirling force had taken hold of him, trying to suck him into the absolute darkness too. Harry had screamed and screamed, not wanting to die. Because he was sure that this time being sucked into the darkness would ensure his death.

He tried to wake himself up, desperate not to die. He was sure that he was screaming in his sleep, sure that someone would hear him and come rushing to his bed, shaking him awake. But no one had come, and in the end, he'd been able to grab at consciousness with shaky hands. He woke up to find himself screaming, not deafeningly as he had assumed he was, but silently and hoarsely, as if his voice had been stolen away from him. Although he rationally knew that Shabby hadn't rushed to wake him from his screams because he hadn't been able to hear them rather than he was dead alongside with everyone else Harry knew, he couldn't help but fear that everyone was indeed dead and he was the only one left.

This nightmare shook him in a way that no other dream ever had; it had seemed so real at the time and he had been so sure that everyone was dead and now he was going to die too. He sat up in bed shakily, holding on to himself tightly and trying to hold back more screams. He had to make sure that everyone was still alive, that the nightmare hadn't followed him out of the dream world. He stumbled out of bed, fighting his instinct to creep back into his warm bed and get out of the cold, running out of his bedroom and into the hallways. By now, he was so used to finding his way around the Manor that he wasn't afraid of getting lost, his only gnawing fear was that he was too late and now everyone was dead.

Snape's room was the closest to him, and so Harry ran through the Manor, reassuring himself that after laying eyes on the old potions master, he'd know that everyone was still fine. Of course they were fine.

He reached the door, panting heavily. Not caring about appearances anymore, he pushed the door to Snape's study open, rushing through, only to find a dark, silent room staring back at him. Snape wasn't here.

Before he could allow himself to freak out, he told himself that it was late and Snape wasn't here because he was in his bedroom sleeping, like everyone else surely was. But his irrational fear grew ever greater, telling him that he wasn't here because he was no longer in the living world.

Not really thinking about what he was going to do next, he let his feet take him to the one place that despite everything still made him feel safe. He pushed his legs to move faster, not even slowing down when he reached Draco's bedroom. He burst through the door, his heart beating frantically.

Draco wasn't here either.

_He's probably out at a bar somewhere, _He told himself rationally. _Just wait for him; he'll come back soon enough_.

All of his exhaustion from the nightmare and the running through the manor caught up with him, making him feel light headed and dizzy. He told himself that he'd lie on Draco's bed and wait for him to return. There he slipped into an uneasy sleep, waking up every now and again to check if Draco had returned yet.

And through it all, he couldn't help thinking, _What if everyone's really dead?_

xXx

The rays of sunlight playing over his eyes woke him up gently. Even before searching around with his hands and coming up empty, he knew that Draco wasn't back yet. He got out of bed groggily, wrapping the lime sheet around him messily, and stepped out of Draco's bedroom. He closed the door behind him and turned to walk back down the hallway, coming to a halt in front of a surprised-looking Draco.

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," mumbled Harry after a yawn, rubbing his eye.

"Were you sleeping in my bed?" asked Draco, astounded, taking in his appearance.

"Maybe," said Harry distractedly, his nightmare just coming back to him. He stared at Draco with wide eyes and the sheet fell from his hands. He hugged Draco tightly.

"You're alive!" He exclaimed with obvious joy.

"Yes," confirmed Draco worriedly. "I spent the night talking with mother; neither of us realised how late it was getting."

Harry continued to hold onto him firmly, refusing to loosen his hold.

"It's no reason to get so worked up, Harry," he said hastily, patting Harry awkwardly on the back a few times.

"It's not that," said Harry, stepping back, finally accepting that his nightmare had been just that; a nightmare, and becoming conscious of how ridiculously he was acting.

"I had a nightmare," he explained grudgingly. "I thought everyone was dead." The happenings of the night before came back in a rush, and he found himself relaying it all back to Draco hurriedly. "I went to Snape's study but he wasn't there, then I thought he must be asleep; or, you know, dead, so I came here, and you weren't here either…"

Harry started hiccoughing softly, tears gathering in his eyes. He wasn't sure why he was getting so emotional over it; only that the nightmare had had such a huge impact on him that it was likely he'd need a long time of reassurance to get over it.

"Oh, Harry," smiled Draco bemusedly. "No one's dead. Come here."

He held out his arms and Harry found himself back in them, his head nestled against Draco's chest.

"Let's go back to sleep," suggested Draco tiredly. "It's still quite early."

"But I keep having these nightmares." Harry whinged. "I don't want to sleep anymore."

"Did you have a nightmare sleeping in my bed?" asked Draco gently.

"No," admitted Harry, not sure where Draco was going with this.

"Well, you can sleep there for now if you like," offered Draco shyly.

Harry opened his mouth to accept graciously, and closed it quickly, thinking back to what he'd witnessed in his ceiling. He couldn't bring himself to go back in there. He shook his head frantically.

"It's alright," he said hastily. "I'm not really tired anymore."

He sped down the hallway past Draco, trying to ignore the hurt look that he had given him.

xXx

Harry was sitting out by the steps, blowing on a dandelion. It was a starry night and the cool air felt refreshing. He lay back against the grass, gazing up at the bright moon. He was still struggling with what Snape had told him. It was true that after his nightmare, he'd been glad that everything was still the same, and he'd even thought that everything was the way that it was supposed to be. He'd accepted that this was his life; but as opposed to a life with everyone else dead, it wasn't very surprising that he'd choose this world instead.

He started drawing shapes on the velvety sky, squinting against the white light of the moon to create jagged forms. Being here wasn't the worst thing he could think of. Watching parts of his childhood in his dreams, he'd never felt as if he belonged there either. Maybe he was only a wanderer, never truly fitting in anywhere.

A strange shape formed at the corner of his vision and he stopped squinting, realising that it wasn't another made-up figure, but an actual person standing over him.

"It's a nice night," offered Draco.

Harry sat up so fast that his head started spinning and he brought a hand up to it, trying to steady the world around him.

"Bit chilly," he replied after he was sure that everything was back to where it was supposed to be.

"It always is," said Draco automatically. "Conditioned-"

"Weather," provided Harry. "Yes, I know."

He smiled wickedly as Draco sat down beside him. Feeling mischievous, he willed a cloud to form above them.

"Harry," cried Draco after a long moment. "What are you doing?"

Harry held up a snow flake before it melted in the palm of his hand, grinning at Draco. Seeing his unamused expression, he dismissed the cloud and it dissolved back into water vapour. He shrugged and lay back down, feeling rejected. He'd only meant to make Draco laugh.

"You can't keep doing that Harry," muttered Draco. "You know it's dangerous."

He looked down at Harry, raising his hand and putting it against his cheek.

"I don't want to lose you," he murmured.

"It didn't look like you were really worried about that before," grumbled Harry. "All those guys seemed like more than a sufficient substitution."

"They weren't supposed to be a substitution," frowned Draco. "They were supposed to be a distraction." He lay back on the grass next to Harry, looking at him intently. "I didn't think you cared about them anyway."

"Of course I did," groaned Harry. "How could I look at you kissing them like that and not have my stomach twisted in knots?"

"You did?" Whispered Draco. "You care?"

"I care," confirmed Harry reluctantly.

They lay there hand in hand, not exchanging words, a more profound bond forming between them.

"I was thinking," said Draco after some time. "You know, about your nightmare..."

Harry made a disgruntled noise and put his free arm over his eyes.

"…and about that telepathic thing you did before," continued Draco.

"I didn't do it knowingly," complained Harry miserably. "Your stupid aura was covering me and I couldn't not give in to it. It's your fault, if anyone's."

"What?" Said a confused Draco. "I thought you said each person has their own aura covering them. How could mine be in your room when I was in mine?"

"How should I know?" grumbled Harry. "It's your stupid aura."

"And Snape told me you had to have eye contact with the person you were establishing the link with," said Draco, unfused. "So, unless you were in my room-"

"Of course I wasn't!" Cried Harry, disgusted.

"I know you weren't," said Draco with annoyance. "I felt what you were feeling and saw what you were seeing, remember? I know you were in your own room."

Harry thought back to Draco's head in his ceiling, and had an idea of how the link between them had been able to form, but he stayed silent, not wanting to make Draco think he was a creep.

"Look, this isn't even my point," said Draco impatiently. "What I'm trying to get to is that on the night you had your nightmare, you could have re-established that link with me, since you didn't need the eye contact. Then you'd have been able to see that everyone's still alive and well without having to roam the manor all night."

"I also have been thinking about that night," said Harry coldly. "I could have simply called for Shabby, or any other house-elf, in fact, and sorted out my confusion right then. It wasn't my greatest night. I was disoriented. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Right," said Draco with a disappointed tone.

"What?" Asked Harry curiously. Draco shook his head, looking at the sky mutely. "No, it sounded like you were expecting me to say something else."

"I," Draco sighed heavily, closing his eyes. "I only meant that if you want to re-establish the link, it's fine with me."

Harry looked at him with amazement. Draco was usually the kind of person who got straight to the point. Skirting around it as he had been, Harry wasn't sure how to say no, had he wanted to. But the truth was that ever since he'd ended the mental link, he'd been wondering why all the emotions he'd received from Draco had been so heightened, and he'd wanted to experiment with it, wanted to ask Draco whether or not it had been the same for him.

He tilted Draco's head towards him and Draco opened his eyes slowly, looking into Harry's apprehensively.

Harry opened his mind to him and let Draco's strong presence in. They stared at each other in wonder for a long time. Harry could feel the peace and the excitement that ran under it through Draco. He could see the new found respect for himself that had been formed in Draco since Narcissa had gone back to her old life and the appreciation for him being here with Draco. He could feel how sorry Draco truly was for hurting Harry, knew that Draco was seeing how deeply the scar ran in Harry, and how much he was promising Harry that he'd make it up to him.

He felt Draco reach deeper in his mind than Snape had ever been able to, and he found himself give permission to Draco to enter the far-off places in his mind that he had never considered confessing about out loud. Some things were better shown than told.

He felt Draco come to a stop outside a particularly well-guarded door, probing it with his mind curiously. Harry bit his lip, considering denying him access, feeling rather shy.

_It's your head, _murmured Draco. _Your secret. I understand._

Harry threw away his doubts and opened the door cautiously, waiting for Draco's reaction, flushed with embarrassment. Draco saw how Harry had dreamed about him masturbating, how he had seen him making love to another man on his ceiling, and flushed crimson himself. He grinned at Harry's appreciation of what a good lover he was, and they both burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

In return, Draco opened a door in his mind and poured all of his love to Harry, showed him that what he had felt for his previous lovers was nothing compared to what he felt for Harry.

They spent hours in each other's heads, even after they went back to their own beds, learning everything there was to know about the other. Harry couldn't recall ever being more content.


	20. Smitten

**Author's Notes: **Thanks for the review :) I'm going to answer all of the doubts and wonders you had in this chapter and take credit for the whole idea and pretend it was all mine.

No, really. You have no idea how your reviews shape my story. You make them so much better. I am forever grateful to people who take the time to tell me about what they want and what holes they spot. You make the sun come up and cause the flowers to bloom.

This is kind of random, but there's a pool in this chapter. If you're familiar with Doctor Who, you'll understand my obsession with a pool being where it's not supposed to be, and if you're not, hopefully you'll enjoy it all the same. I'm also kind of sleep deprived, which should vouch for my randomness.

**Chapter Twenty**

**Smitten**

"I still don't understand how or why your aura travelled all the way across the manor to find me," prompted Harry teasingly. "Nor can I fathom why it only seemed to happen whenever you were engaged in… romance stuff."

"Romance stuff?" Smirked Draco. "Are you listening to yourself?" He sobered up when Harry glared at him. "I'm still not completely convinced that people have auras or that you can see them, you know. You're probably making this entire thing up so you can worm your way out of talking about watching me shag someone on your ceiling and feeling so strongly towards it that you whipped out the mental connection."

Harry flushed uncontrollably, avoiding Draco's gaze, and started to rethink the whole mind link between them that ensured this honesty thing. It was true that he could set up a wall in front of the private thoughts that he didn't want Draco to know about, but Draco had let him in some dark corners of his mind and Harry felt that Draco had earned the right to know these things about him. It hadn't surprised him that it hadn't taken Draco long to wander onto the memories Harry was most embarrassed about and that he hadn't stopped tormenting Harry ever since.

"Okay, that is definitely not what happened and you know it! You saw me see your aura creep under my door in the memory that you rummaged through! And why would I knowingly create and maintain a mental bridge between us when you were doing… you know," cringed Harry.

"Romance stuff," provided Draco helpfully, the smirk ever more profound on his lips.

Harry grunted in reply. Still not accustomed to Draco's feelings being amplified in his own head, he suffered a moment of confusion of feeling joy over his own discomfort. Realising that the delight was coming from Draco, he swatted away his hand half-heartedly, trying to pull himself out of his arms. Draco grunted and pulled Harry back against him, knowing that Harry had long since caved in to all the embarrassment and discomfort Draco was going to be causing him after he'd felt how deeply depressed Draco had been when they'd stopped talking due to Harry's outbreak and his demand to be left alone, promptly followed by his incident with Narcissa.

It was true that Harry had felt plenty depressed himself during that time, but he'd been mostly occupied with thoughts and plans of winning Draco back, thus distracting himself from being completely swallowed up by a well of sadness as Draco had.

"I guess being with all those people when I actually wanted to be with you made me seek you out unconsciously with my aura," confessed Draco, feeling how understanding Harry was being towards him and appreciating it. He saw Harry's shocked look at how sincerely he'd thought about providing a serious answer and shrugged it off. "Or whatever."

"I'm still not used to us communicating on this many different levels," frowned Harry thoughtfully, struggling still to sort out his own feelings from Draco's in his head. It had been so much easier with Snape; everything had been muted and mellow, a slight headache that you forgot about unless you focused really hard on it. But what he had with Draco was loud and colourful and messy. He could keep track of what Draco was feeling at any given time while simultaneously thinking of a separate thing in his own head, feeling that Draco was following Harry's thoughts in his own head as well while being aware that Harry knew it too; it was a never ending circle, as if they were standing in between two mirrors, their reflections mirrored infinitely. It was all rather overwhelming. They both knew that they could put up a wall or distance their thoughts in order to make it less endearing, but neither had really entertained the idea. After being so far apart for so long, it felt like the first breath of fresh air to Harry. It felt so effortless and right that he couldn't quite remember how his life had been before it. There had been too much space filled with silence in his head before. Now, he felt vibrant and renewed. The amazing part was that he could tell Draco felt the exact same way without either of them having to say it out loud and doubt whether or not the other was being completely honest about their feelings. He couldn't ever fear Draco betraying him or worry about having to hide something from Draco either. It was all so clear and simple.

Now that he was so close to Draco, he had no idea why he'd worked so hard to put so much space between the two of them before. Now that he could feel exactly how Draco felt towards him, he couldn't dream of wanting anything else but to lie back in his arms and bathe in all his warmth. He wondered if it had taken the element of wonder and surprise out of their relationship, but looking into Draco's soft eyes, knew that he wouldn't trade it for anything. What he had found in Draco was honest and genuine, and he was sure that even without the mental link between them, Draco would have been happy to spend every minute of every day convincing Harry of how real his feelings for him were.

All in all, he felt uncharacteristically bright and happy and he wasn't used to it yet. It wasn't as though all his scars had healed, more like he could believe that their pain wouldn't suffocate him in their clutches and that he could move on and start over. There were times he slipped back into feeling hollow, but Draco was always there to offer some support or a warm embrace. He sensed that talking wasn't how Harry dealt with things and he was good at giving Harry the space he needed while being there for him at the same time. Harry snuggled closer to Draco, feeling peaceful and smug at having Draco back by his side wholeheartedly. He still freaked out about how effortlessly his relationship with Draco seemed to fall in place, and Draco found it immensely amusing to have Harry open up the darkest doors of his mind to him so easily and then freak out about how much of his private thoughts he was trusting Draco with. Oddly enough, Harry sort of enjoyed feeling Draco feel so content and happy, even at his expense, though he wouldn't admit it.

"It's not cool to smile this much," he muttered moodily. He broke into a smile himself after seeing Draco's angelic beaming. He simply couldn't help himself. Being gloomy around a satisfied Draco was not an option.

"Thinks he has me wrapped around his little finger," Harry mumbled under his breath, shooting Draco an accusing glare. "Prat."

Draco's grin only widened.

The other bright side of having a mental link was that he could start a conversation out of the blue and not have it sound sudden or confusing because Draco would know what made him want to discuss it, and he'd understand what he was talking about without having to try.

For Draco, who loathed having to repeat himself when not heard properly, and Harry, who had trouble expressing himself with words, it was the perfect form of communication. Add to that a guarantee to immediately cross-out any misunderstandings leading to unnecessary arguments and Harry was having the best time of his life. He still got into an argument with Draco every now and again, though, just to make sure he still could. He didn't think the need to insert themselves as the higher role in their relationship would ever fade away. It made him glad that some things never really changed. Any stability in this crazy life was welcome.

"I'm still angry at you for bailing on me when you promised to wait until I was ready," he told Draco for the hundredth time.

"And I've offered you so many different ways of making up for it," grinned Draco maliciously at how crimson Harry was turning, "but you seem to be not interested."

Harry's mind went blank after Draco threw some choice images of what he had been specifically considering of doing to Harry to show how absolutely sorry he was. Harry started making a strangled noise. He couldn't help feeling aroused, especially when Draco was looking at him with those hazy eyes, but he wasn't ready for that yet. They hadn't even kissed.

Following his thoughts, Draco smiled sinisterly, raising his eyebrows. Harry bit his lip and watched Draco's eyes travel down to it; then looked away hurriedly, trying to hide what felt like a permanent flush. He could still sense Draco eyes on him. He sent a big 'no' to Draco, painting flowers and ribbons around it in his mind, making it as big and flashy as he could to distract Draco from watching his profile.

"I'm only saying that it's not fair that you've seen me naked when I haven't seen you naked," Draco tried to reason. To reinforce his point, he threw Harry the image of himself masturbating in his bathroom, one that Harry had tried and failed to forget.

"I can't control my dreams," grumbled Harry, flushing ever redder.

"That," murmured Draco in Harry's ears. "Was not a dream. You wanted to see it."

Harry thought about a more awkward situation than being pressed against someone and talking about watching them in a wet dream as they masturbated while trying to say no to their advances but couldn't think of any situations that would be more uncomfortable than this. Feeling his distress, Draco backed off, unconsciously sending Harry soothing images and feelings to calm him down and show him that everything was okay. Harry relaxed back against Draco, thinking that he could fall asleep like this without having to worry about anything ever again.

Draco started rubbing soothing circles on Harry's arm, distractedly thinking about the big fight that now seemed so distant. Harry couldn't help but remember it too, remember how important it had seemed at the time but how pointless it was now. He cared about Draco the most. There was no way around it. Draco still hurt over the fact that Harry wasn't remembering many memories that included him, but he grudgingly accepted that that was in no way related to Harry's level of affection for him.

"I hate this," Draco murmured softly, trying not to whinge. "It's not fair to you. I can imagine waking up one day and not being able to remember the last twenty something years of my life. I would feel somehow cheated." He gazed up at the sky. "A big chunk of my life would be torn away. I would have no identity. My experiences make me who I am. How could I knowingly give all of that up? How could I give up the memory of my parents, my friends? How could I give up the memory of the first time I performed a spell, or the first time I fell in love, or the first time I flew on a broom? I don't care how horrible and painful my past is, it's still _my _past. I have a right to remember it. I have a right to remember what my life amounts to, same as you and everybody else. How could I ever choose to not remember who I am and what I did? How could I learn from my mistakes and grow as a person without my memories? Having to relearn everything that life has taught me in twenty years will take such a long time, Harry. I would feel so lost and incomplete. I couldn't live like that, not knowing who I was –who I am. I don't understand what brought you to call on that cloud of darkness to take you and your memories away. Hard as I try I can't imagine anything that traumatising happening to you, nothing that would cause for such an extreme measure."

"You'd still just be Draco," Harry provided softly, trying to soothe him.

"Yes, but who exactly is Draco without any memories? Do I have it in me to be a serial killer? Am I secretly in love with a band that everybody hates? Do I take milk with my coffee? Do I lose my temper easily or am I a very patient person?" He threw up his hands. "I have no way of knowing these without knowing what I was like in the past. Without my memories, I could be anything; anyone. I could throw tantrums about the smallest things or stay unaffected through anything. I wouldn't know if what I was doing was me or not. Nothing would feel right. How do you do it?"

"Does it really matter, though?" Asked Harry tentatively. "Let's say that you lost your temper easily in the past. So what? People can change. They can choose to be patient. It's not the end of the world if you try black coffee and decide it's rubbish and want to add some milk, Draco."

"I know that," said Draco exasperatedly. "I'm not explaining it right."

"You are explaining it right. I know what you're trying to say," muttered Harry after a long moment. "I know how unsure you would be of everything. I suppose it's just easier to pretend that I don't get it, for the sake of argument. I do know what drives a person to call on the darkness after all. From what I remember from my life so far, it wasn't a pleasant experience, and got worse as I grew up. I really don't want to remember all that misery. But I saw you in my earlier days when I couldn't even remember how to react to you and I know how lost you felt. I felt lost just watching you. But I thought you could move on from it. Grow to enjoy my fresh start the way that I've learned to."

Harry saw the infinite sadness reflected in the cloudy grey eyes and felt his heart clench in response. He laid a hand on Draco's.

"There's no such thing as a fresh start," Draco whispered softly. "The past always catches up with you."

"Some things never truly leave us," echoed Harry. These were the words Narcissa had told him so very long ago. "I still remember a lot from the past, more so every day. I couldn't stop the flow even if I wanted to, and I couldn't speed it up either. But a wise person once told me that it's not our memories that make us who we are. It's our heart."

He smiled at Draco ruefully. "The heart never forgets, Draco. It doesn't matter if I never end up remembering the whole of my past. What matters is that I'm here now, and so are you."

Draco made a non-committal noise and continued to play with Harry's fingers, enjoying the cool shade they'd found under an oak tree as a shelter against the bright sun. Harry could feel the resignation in him, though, and felt so much better about voicing his opinions. Maybe this talking about his feelings instead of shutting everyone out wasn't such a bad thing.

xXx

"I didn't know the manor had a swimming pool," Draco mumbled, the tone of amazement bright in his voice.

"Hey, neither did I," consoled Harry. "And I had made it my task to explore every inch of it to survive the boredom."

"Yes, but I've lived here my whole life," argued Draco irritably. "It's completely different. Why didn't anyone tell me we had an indoors swimming pool?"

"Maybe because it looks like no one's ever used it," grimaced Harry, looking at how pristine everything looked and how perfectly calm the water was. It was intimidating. He felt like splashing around in it and making some noise to break the eerie silence.

"Maybe it's not water. Maybe it's filled with acid or something." suggested Draco seriously.

Harry rolled his eyes and moved forward, dipping in his toe before Draco could stop him.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's just water," he said comically. "Though, if you don't want to risk it, I would totally understand."

"Ha ha," said Draco humourlessly, stepping forward and pushing Harry in.

Harry yelped in surprise and lost his footing, but not before reaching back and grabbing at Draco. They both fell into the water, gasping for air and accidentally gulping down a mouthful of water. Harry found it amusing that somehow Draco's hair was still dry, and made it his mission to make it wet. Draco had always seemed awfully concerned when it came to his hair.

"Argh, great, now I feel like sneezing," grumbled Draco after untangling himself from Harry.

"Don't glower at me," said Harry defensively, putting some distance between them. "You're the one who had the bright idea of pushing me in."

"And you're the one who dragged me with you!" Complained Draco, splashing water at Harry playfully.

Harry turned away from him, laughing and splashing back more forcefully, swimming further away from Draco in order to save himself.

"What do you know, I can swim," he shouted at Draco in between splashes.

"Good for you," Draco shouted back before full-on chasing him through the water. Harry, freaking out, tried to swim away faster, but the pool was only so big. Draco finally cornered him against the end of the pool, not letting Harry turn around him in any way.

"Brutal," protested Harry, trying to splash him hard enough that he wouldn't dare come any closer. The expression on Draco's face wasn't very promising.

Draco splashed back, trying to muffle Harry's shorter waves, moving forward slowly but steadily. Genuinely distressed, Harry tried to splash harder, and found his magic flowing out of him, strengthening the waves, making them larger and stronger. In a few seconds, Draco's dry hair was drenched completely, and he was backing away, holding his hand up in surrender.

Harry laughed and the waves died down, leaving the water fairly calm once more. He swam towards Draco, who was trying unsuccessfully to get his wet hair to stay out of his face, sure of his victory. When he was in reaching distance, however, Draco suddenly put both hands on his head and pushed him under the water, grinning wickedly. Harry looked at him wide-eyed before disappearing under the surface of the water, thrashing and trying to kick Draco away. Draco laughed out loud and backed away, cowering from a now equally drenched Harry.

Not caring as much about whether or not his hair looked perfect, Harry shoved it away messily and advanced towards Draco, planning his revenge. Draco, seeing Harry's plan form inside his head, was a step ahead of him and evaded him for quite some time, before Harry was finally able to trap him in a corner.

He went closer and closer to Draco, both of them grinning widely, challenging the other to start something. Harry moved so close that he cloud see the droplets hanging from Draco's hair and unintentionally raised a hand to brush his hair behind his ears. Draco, expecting Harry's revenge but not this, flinched away, and then looked at Harry in surprise, standing still to let Harry do whatever he wanted, as long as it didn't entail getting revenge.

Harry grinned maliciously, holding his hand above Draco's now semi-dry hair, and cold water poured out of his hand with such force that Draco's jaw dropped with surprise and he started shivering from the cold and retreated deeper into the warm water of the pool. Harry sprang away delightedly, happy to finally have been able to catch Draco by surprise.

Draco continued to shiver helplessly, however, not able to think of a come back to that one, and Harry was soon back by his side, hugging him apologetically and channelling his magic into warmth this time. He turned himself into a projector of warmth and Draco pasted himself against him gratefully, his teeth finally stopping their chattering.

"So good," he whispered sleepily as he let the warmth seep into him.

Harry laughed nervously, not sure that Draco would be this forgiving after he was out of his trance. Still, he kept his arms around the blond, thinking that he'd be okay with anything Draco planned to do to Harry to get even.

Besides, if Draco blabbed to Snape about Harry's improper use of wandless magic, he'd be in trouble for sure.

xXx

"What are you doing?" Draco murmured sleepily, looking down at Harry. It took him a long while to get his bearings; the last thing he remembered was standing in the pool, leaning against Harry, trying to get warm. Now, they were in his bed, wrapped in sheets, deliciously warm. He tried to call forth his annoyance towards the small brunette, but failed, as Harry was feeling too peaceful and content right now to let Draco ruin it with any negative feelings and kept sending him reassurance through their telepathic link.

"Nothing," replied Harry just as quietly, letting his hand drop against Draco's bare chest. Draco looked down on himself and saw twisting blue lines shimmer against his skin with astonishment. They were all over him, his chest, his hands, arms, and elbows. They looked like tattoos, but they were swirling and twisting as they hovered over his skin, barely making any contact. They faded away as he watched, turning into a blue smoke and then nothing. He looked at Harry's fingertip that was glowing a similar blue before it shimmered into nothingness too, and couldn't help but feel amazed. He never thought he would find something like doodling on his skin attractive, but here he was, feeling aroused.

Harry looked up into his eyes with surprise, feeling the direction his thoughts had taken. He flushed a faint pink and parted his lips, his breath hot against Draco's arm. Draco suddenly became very aware of their legs tangled together and how close Harry was to him, and more importantly, that they were in his bed.

"How did I get here, exactly?" He asked breathlessly.

"You fell asleep standing on your feet in the pool," said Harry amusedly. "So I brought you here."

"Right," replied Draco, his head swimming. Harry was so nonchalant about this that you'd think they did this sort of thing every day. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A while," replied Harry vaguely, frowning. He'd been lost in thought, not really keeping track of the time. "Does it matter?"

"No," said Draco awkwardly. He wasn't getting any direct feelings or thoughts from Harry and it made him feel disoriented. Either Harry was thinking about too many things at once for Draco to decipher, or there was something wrong with their bond. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" said Harry distractedly. "Yes, fine."

Draco looked at those emerald pools filled with mystery for what felt like hours, becoming hyperaware of how every time Harry breathed against his skin, his hair would stand on end and he'd get goose bumps, or how his leg was falling asleep but he didn't want to shift it to make Harry move away from him. The only thing he wanted right now was to get closer to Harry. They both were still in their boxers from swimming earlier and Draco was positive Harry had performed a cleaning spell on them because he felt squeaky clean and couldn't smell the dry chlorine scent that he should have detected after swimming. He wondered vaguely how much of his magic Harry had used up today and whether or not how he was acting now was a side effect of that.

"You're so cute when you worry," Harry muttered amusedly and leaned forward to kiss Draco on the nose. "I really am fine. Just thinking."

"About what?" asked Draco, relieved that the silence was finally broken.

"About us. If it could really work out, being with a guy and all."

"Oh," replied Draco, his heart dropping ten feet. "And?"

"And I think it will work just fine," admitted Harry shyly, coiling his hand over Draco's bare waist and blinking up at him.

Draco felt his heart flutter against his chest and he gazed at Harry adoringly.

"It's only unnerving because I'm so inexperienced," confessed Harry. "Maybe if you could tell me about some stuff beforehand, like, you know, research, then it wouldn't be so hard for me."

"Of course, Harry," replied Draco, barely concealing his excitement. "You can ask me anything. I'll teach you everything. And we don't have to do anything you don't want to, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Harry happily, beaming at Draco. "But can we start tomorrow? Because I really am tired after performing all those spells," he declared with a yawn.

Before Draco could offer any reassurance, Harry was curled against him and fast asleep, his breathing deep and comforting against Draco's chest. Draco found himself tucking his messy hair away fondly, wondering if he would ever find out what had gone through Harry's mind on this day to make him come to such a firm conclusion on his own.

_He has no idea how completely abandoned and trusting he is when he's asleep, and how much he makes me want to protect him and never give him up,_ Harry thought sleepily, making sure to shroud that thought from Draco. He didn't want him to gloat about it later.


	21. Confessions

**A/N: **Thanks so much for the reviews and sorry for the long wait. This is a pretty light chapter, maybe a foreshadowing of the darker times that are going to come in future chapters *cough*

I had a great time writing this chapter and grounding their new found relationship. Harry is as clueless as ever and Draco is still his persuasive self. Enjoy.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Confessions**

When Draco woke up, he found Harry nowhere to be seen and his sheets half-pulled out of the mattress. He followed the trail slowly; for some reason, it was dragged onto the other side of the bed. His brain was still fuzzy from sleep, trying hard as it was to work it all out. He reached the side of the bed and peeked over the edge, wondering what to make of what he was seeing. Harry's body was sprawled uncomfortably on the floor and he was fast asleep, his mouth half open.

"Harry," whispered Draco, perplexed.

"Mm?" Mumbled Harry.

"You're on the floor," he stated in a blank tone.

"Mm," mumbled Harry again, still mostly asleep.

"Harry!" Draco hissed. He was leaning over Harry, unsure of what was going on. He tried to reach out to Harry through their mental bond. He envisioned shaking him softly. His hands hovered over the unresponsive body, wondering whether or not he should really shake Harry.

"I'm awake, I'm awake," grumbled Harry, raising a hand to rub his eye. He yawned tiredly. "Morning."

"Morning," replied Draco impatiently.

Harry frowned and slowly lifted himself up on his elbows. He looked at Draco confusedly. "What am I doing on the floor?"

Draco raised his eyebrows at him questioningly.

"Guess I fell," shrugged Harry sleepily, still not really ready to wake up. He threw his pillow back onto the bed and crawled up after it, forcing Draco backwards.

"Is that something you do a lot?"

"No," replied Harry slowly. When it became clear that Draco was waiting for more explanations, he added, "I guess I'm not used to sharing a bed with someone."

"Don't be ridiculous," chimed Draco. "You must have slept next to someone some time. Spent the night with them or something. Over a friend's house at a sleepover? A relative's?"

Harry shook his head mutely. Nothing was coming back to him.

Draco's smile was first hesitant but soon turned very wide, his eyebrows still raised high. He'd never met anyone quite so… innocent. Harry scowled and got up from the bed, knowing exactly how inexperienced he was being portrayed in Draco's eyes. He turned away from Draco, linking his hands together and raising them high.

Draco sat back in the middle of his bed and watched Harry stretch with interest. When Harry refused to glance back at him, Draco started throwing apologies at him telepathically. Finally Harry slumped back against the bed, worn out.

"Okay, okay!" He grumbled. "I got it."

Draco snaked his hand over Harry's, drawing circles over it. He was thinking of the blue smoky patterns Harry had done on him yesterday and felt a pang of jealousy at not being able to draw the same patterns over Harry's hands.

Feeling the yearning in him, Harry rested his free hand over Draco's gingerly and closed his eyes, trying to run his own magic through Draco's hand. After a moment or two, he heard Draco gasp. Through their bond, he could feel the tingles running up and down Draco's palm and fingers. The shining blue energy was drifting out of Draco's fingertips, drawing visible circles over Harry's hand. The lines were shakier and the colour was more faded than Harry's usual one, but both of them were smiling excitedly, feeling closer together as a result of sharing his magic. Harry felt a strange attraction towards Draco that he hadn't really felt before. He wanted to get even closer to him.

When his hand started to feel numb and he remembered the warnings he'd been continuously given about not exhausting his magic, he withdrew his hand reluctantly, lingering it over Draco's hand just a moment longer, sending goose bumps through both of them.

"Good dreams?" Purred Draco tentatively after a long silence.

"Don't remember," confessed Harry, raking a hand through his hair. He found a nervousness biting at him and had to wonder why for a few moments before remembering the discussion of the night before.

"Er," he started, knowing that Draco was on the same page. "Listen, about last night… I know I said I'd give it a shot-"

Draco cut him off mid-sentence with a sharp look, letting Harry feel everything that he wanted to say in opposition. He could see that Draco would say them out loud any way, wanting them to be real and solid and out there, not a passing thought or a feeling that comes and goes in a flash; something more permanent and dependable. It was such a rollercoaster ride. He simply wasn't ready to commit to anything right now. It wouldn't be fair to Draco to lead him on.

"Look," he said awkwardly. "You don't have to say anything. I know how you feel, but I'm not ready for all of this yet. I hadn't really thought it through. It was unfair of me to give you unrealistic hope, and I'm sorry, but nothing you say will change this. I'm not ready for a relationship."

"Wait," said Draco sourly after hearing the uncertainty in Harry's voice. "You're not ready for a relationship with anyone, or just with a guy?"

"With anyone," said Harry as he looked at Draco pleadingly. "I'm trying to wrap my head around my life as it is and maintaining a relationship with anyone would be hard."

"You don't have to hide it. I can see that me being a guy does make you feel awkward," said Draco grudgingly.

"Well, I can't really help that, can I?" complained Harry. "Didn't you feel awkward your first time? It's not like I can wake up one morning and decide I'm gay. It's a process. Not having access to my memories makes it that much harder."

"It didn't seem to bother you before," said Draco pointedly, thinking back to when Harry had watched him naked and found pleasure in it.

Harry bit his lower lip and flushed, looking away. "Look, that's not the issue right now. I'm not ready for a relationship, not yet. Maybe in a few months when I feel more settled into my new life."

Draco stayed silent for a long while, searching Harry's eyes. "Just listen to what I have to say, okay?"

Harry nodded half-heartedly and sighed deeply, dropping his head. He could sense how hard it was for Draco to admit to his feelings out loud and was secretly curious to hear what he had to say; how he would go about confessing his feelings when he usually conveyed them silently or through their mental bond.

"When you woke up after five years," Draco started softly. "Five years, Harry; my life became even more of a mess. You may not remember our past, but I do, and it's very complicated to say the least. It's always ended up hurting one or both of us. We were bonded together through hate and pain and death. By broken promises and expectations to live up to. It's wasn't a story that made much sense, but it was our life. We shared the experiences. We bore witness to the deaths. We suffered through the pain. We survived.

"But as long as I was cut off from the world under this barrier, locked away in my room if I wasn't out somewhere trying to forget myself, then I could pretend that it hadn't been my life. I could pretend to have lived a better life, to have had a normal and happy childhood."

Draco went silent, looking away from Harry. Harry sat back awkwardly, giving him time. He wanted to wrap his arms around Draco and erase all of the pain away, some of which he himself had caused. A small part of him wondered when he'd grown so protective of Draco.

_Last night, _His mind answered him. _The time and words which you're trying so hard to dismiss right now._

"But then you woke up," continued Draco, still looking at his hands. "And brought my flimsy pretence crashing down. Except there was something very wrong. You couldn't remember a thing. All of that pain and misery of our shared past, and I had to bear it on my own. I felt so betrayed."

Harry placed a hand on Draco's clenched fist, remembering his own frustration when he'd felt betrayed by Draco.

"But then you showed me that it could be a chance at a new start, a new friendship with a clean slate. I was glad, but always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was used to us fighting and hurting one another," Draco explained apologetically, glancing at Harry and then away.

"After nothing seemed to go right with out newfound friendship, I was so thrown by you, thinking that I couldn't do anything right and that it would be better for us both if we had some space for a while, that I more than pulled away from you. I thought our friendship was unbalanced, that I was giving more than you were."

Draco took a minute to breathe. Harry started to draw the same blue circles of last night over Draco's fingers, mesmerised by their shining light. His magic running through Draco had felt amazing. He had felt as one with him, as though they were compatible and so close together that he'd never have to endure anything on his own ever again. He didn't want space from Draco anymore; he wanted to stay reassuringly close.

"You know what happened after that. I walked in on you laughing with Mother." Draco went quiet again, not able to put his feelings into words. Harry squeezed his hand understandingly. "You were so completely happy without me."

_And I was utterly miserable without you, _Draco thought the words he could not bear to say.

_I was pretty miserable too, _confessed Harry, showing Draco glimpses of how hollow he had felt.

Draco cringed, looking into emerald-green eyes. _I didn't know._

Harry gave him a sad smile, feeling the old wound in him open up and burn through him. He wasn't aware of how much he'd been hurting. His past, limited as it was, was filled with memories of loneliness and giving up things unwillingly and feeling lost. The only times he'd felt remotely content had been the times he'd spent with Shabby, Narcissa, Snape and Draco. Just smiling at him, Draco was able to drive away all of his negative feelings and make him see the cup half full. He wanted to hold onto Draco and never let go. He didn't want them to fight like that ever again. He'd never been so miserable.

"So I threw the promises of waiting for you to the wind and thought I'd give being happy without you a shot too," whispered Draco. "And I failed miserably."

Harry sighed and looked down on the blue patterns twisting on Draco's pale fingers._ So here we are._

"Yes, here we are." Draco grinned, trying to fight the gloomy atmosphere that had settled over them. "So don't tell me about taking back what you said last night, Harry. We've come this far. Don't be a quitter. And I won't break any more promises."

Harry looked up at Draco, caught off-guard. He'd woken up today on the floor, not even able to spend a night sleeping besides Draco, and told himself that he should take back whatever he'd told Draco the night before; his excuse being that exhaustion had made him light-headed and promising things he shouldn't have. But here was Draco, building on Harry's promises instead of letting him tear them down.

He couldn't fight the blush away. Deep down, he'd really wanted Draco to do this.

Draco's grin widened and Harry blushed harder, knowing that the reason Draco had given his big speech was in fact due to the deep and not-so-well hidden desire bubbling inside of him.

He looked into the stormy grey eyes that he'd come to know so well. How had it come to this? He wondered if his choice in the matter would have differed had he still been the old him, buried under all the spiteful memories of hurt and desolation that Draco had talked about. Would he have been able to rise above it? Or would he have made as many mistakes as Draco was admitting to?

He was comforted by the soft hand lying inviting under his own and knew that if he'd been the old him, Draco wouldn't act so freely around him. It pained him to think back to the closed-off Draco that he'd first met when he'd woken up. He loved playing with Draco's soft fingers or resting his head on his lap or having any other kind of connection. It was reassuring to know that Draco would always be beside him and that he enjoyed the fact as much as Harry did. If he was to call this off and crawl back awkwardly to the friendship zone again, there wouldn't be any more of this. He wouldn't be able to sit this close or listen to him breathe or lose himself in those grey eyes that went on forever. There would be no more contact, no more mental bonds or having someone to share a secret joke or smile with; because every time he'd look at Draco he would feel the ache of not being with him, the joke or smile completely forgotten. It would just be him against the world.

In that moment, he was absolutely sure that he'd never want to go back from here. He was so used to being near Draco and sharing every thought with him that somehow they seemed to have become a couple without him realising it. Maybe it was because Draco was his safe place now, or that he'd finally come to fully forgive him, but now he had the deep yearning to never let Draco go; to go to sleep snuggled next to him and wake up in a tangle of limbs.

It seemed almost surreal that he was actually allowed to do all of this. One step forward and he'd be with Draco. He could lie on Draco's stomach and read a book or be on the other side of the Manor from him and still feel just as connected.

He looked at Draco with eyes filled with endless scenarios while Draco gave him time and space to think it through. Harry could feel the warm buzz of his presence just outside his mind, waiting anxiously for an answer. He didn't really have to think about what happened next. His eyes lingered on Draco's lips for a moment before he leaned in and pressed his own lips against them. He felt Draco catch his breath and a nervous smile widened his lips as he leaned back again. Draco closed the distance between them and returned the kiss with a smouldering fire that melted Harry's insides. He gasped, feeling light-headed and very strange.

Draco broke the kiss and looked at him with feverish eyes, raising a hand to tuck a black lock of hair behind his ears. Harry could have sworn that wherever Draco's fingers touched, his skin sizzled and felt chilly at the same time.

Feeling everything that Harry was feeling, a sinister smile twisted Draco's lips and he trailed his finger over the side of Harry's cheek and down onto his neck. Harry's eyes closed on their own accord and he felt his lips part, lost in sensation. A moment later Draco's finger was tracing his bottom lip and Harry couldn't help but dart his tongue forward and taste the tip of his finger. Before he knew what had happened, Draco's eager lips had replaced his finger and they were kissing again.

After his whole world was turned upside down many times over, Harry finally paused for breath and to remember what they had been discussing before. Realising that he'd just agreed to going out with Draco, a hesitant smile lit up his face and he received a very warm one in return.

He was still terrified of what he was getting himself into however, and was counting on the questions Draco had promised to answer about this whole relationship thing.

"Hey, I'm no expert at it either," reassured Draco. "I can't promise there'll be no fighting for example, because I'm always right and you're not."

"Well, then I can't promise not to get revenge when you do turn out to be right," grinned Harry, feeling the awkwardness slip away.

Nothing really had to change between them. He could still be himself around Draco, and that was what mattered most to him.

Everything seemed so much simpler and more enjoyable now that he was hanging out with Draco again. There seemed to be endless possibilities laid out in front of them. He knew that the feeling was definitely mutual every time that Draco looked at him with bright eyes or a dazzling smile or the goose bumps they both felt when their hands brushed against each other.

xXx

"How do you deep throat?" Asked Harry one day out of the blue.

Draco had too much restraint to jump or start coughing, but he did look at Harry in a baffling way for a while, at a loss for words.

"You said you'd answer my questions!" Objected Harry, feeling let down.

It had been a couple of weeks since they'd decided to give being together a chance and by now Harry felt comfortable enough to finally discuss the sexual part of the relationship, the part that scared and at the same time drew him in the most. As he really didn't have a clue or memories he could use, he wasn't going to go in unprepared. An exasperated Draco looked back at his defiant boyfriend and grinned maliciously, sending various pictures and emotions of his deep-throating experiences towards Harry who immediately set up a wall in his mind to bounce the rather taunting images back at Draco.

"No, I want an explanation, not images and feelings," he declared.

"You want me to explain it by words alone?" Draco asked bemusedly. "Why don't I just demonstrate?"

"Words alone," repeated Harry, not even blushing. He was going to do this; he'd already made his mind up about it. They'd been through the basics with him blushing furiously and Draco grinning wickedly. It felt great to be able to finally talk about it with a straight face.

"It's pretty extreme, Harry," Draco said calmly. "We're still at the cuddling stage. I don't think you really need to know all of this just yet."

"Does that mean you don't know how to explain it?" Teased Harry.

Draco gave him a hard look. He exhaled deeply, wondering what he'd gotten himself into, promising Harry answers. His questions were never-ending.

"You have to angle your head right," he started, caving in to Harry's demanding look.

xXx

"Because you can't remember what treacle tart tastes like!" Cried Draco. "And you haven't had any for five years… no, probably even longer than that!"

Harry growled at the spoonful of soup in his hand and brought it up higher. He wrinkled his nose at how creamy it smelled, his stomach already churning.

_This is a bad idea, _He moaned. _Why can't I stick to the nourishment potions?_

"I've told you why!" Snapped Draco. _Stop buying yourself more time. You're not getting out of this. Three spoons a day! Eat! It's not poison._

"It may as well be," Grumbled Harry. "Has the same effects on me, doesn't it?"

He looked pleadingly at Snape, who was looking at Draco and him in confusion. Harry didn't have to be able to hear his thoughts to know that Snape could see half of their conversation was being carried out telepathically and that he was still somehow expected to fill in the blanks and take part in it.

Harry bit back his laughter. Communicating with Draco this way had become second nature to him, but it frustrated other people, mainly Snape, to no end. He caught Draco's stern stare and all the amusement left him, the misery of the situation settling back in. Feeling deep down that he should oblige, he forced the spoon inside his mouth, expecting his nausea to rise. A wave of it rolled over him weakly after he swallowed it down. _It's not unbearable_, he reflected.

He downed the other two spoons and sat back in his chair, his nose still wrinkled, but otherwise feeling very proud of himself. That is, until Draco beamed at him and clapped him on the back, bringing out the hiccoughs. A look of horror passed on Harry's features and settled on Draco's when the motion proved to be too much and Harry bent over the bin, strategically situated next to his chair, gagging uncontrollably. A yellow acidic liquid stared back at him and he clenched his throat in his hands, feeling it burn.

"Oh, Merlin," gasped Draco.

Harry groaned and frowned at how much the gesture made his throat burn more. He leaned against Draco's leg since he was standing beside him, not feeling like speaking for the next thousand years. Draco had the sense to keep his face straight and his thoughts sympathetic as sick was smeared onto his fresh pants.

"We'll try again tomorrow," he announced cheerily, hauling Harry up to take him away as Harry sent murderous thoughts his way.

"Treacle tart, Harry," chimed Draco. "Think of all the treacle tart."

Harry let himself be dragged to Draco's shower, knowing full well that he had no shot at winning this one. He had to convince Snape that his stomach was well enough to hold in treacle tart, which seemed absolutely ridiculous to him, since he had been able to live without it just fine so far. He couldn't see why this sudden conviction had come over Draco. He looked at Draco's innocent face suspiciously, almost completely sure that there was something he was hiding from him.


	22. Christmas

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews and alerts :) sometimes the only thing that gets me through the day is knowing that I have this story that people like to follow, no matter how late my updates get or how nothing really happens.

This chapter is full of acceptance. Everything comes together and fits in place. Life is finally lived to the fullest, under the circumstances.

**Edit: **Thanks **Srienia **for pointing out the slip :P The previously written 'car' is now a 'card'. I did consider letting the house elves finish the rest of the house, but I wanted Christmas to be more personal than that. I wanted them to work on it personally. There are no guests to let the house elves decorate the house for, it's just a family gathering, and they want to be able to look at the decorations and say 'we did all this work and we had a great time doing it too.' I guess I wanted the Malfoys to look more human or something. Again, thanks for the review.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Christmas**

Harry had a vague sense of Christmas. He recalled the smells and the bright decorations; knew that it was a time of gathering and celebration. What he hadn't had a clue of however, was that it would entail this much eating. He was happy enough to note that all the time spent getting used to eating, with Draco's help and Snape's strict supervision, hadn't been in vain. Except for being about ready to burst from stuffing himself with treacle tart, there wasn't much else to complain about; he'd never had as much fun as he was having on his first Christmas.

The Manor was still undoubtedly huge and, as a result, they'd only gotten round to decorating the dining hall. On the plus side, it was so excessively decorated that it more than sufficed. The smell of cinnamon wafted everywhere and for once the strong smells filling the room weren't revolting to Harry.

At first he'd been hesitant and felt like an intruder on a family tradition, as the only people celebrating in the Manor were the Malfoy family and Snape. But after a while, when he realised how completely Snape hated the idea of Christmas, how uncomfortable Narcissa was with being in a crowd even as small and familiar as her own family, and how Lucius only showed up to drink everyone else's share of eggnog as well as his own, Harry finally embraced his holiday spirits. Draco was as dry and cold as he always was with everyone else around, but the weight of his eyes as he focused on Harry was warm enough that it distracted Harry from scolding him over acting detached from his family.

Harry knew that Draco and Narcissa had started working things out, but suspected that Draco's relationship with Lucius would never get any warmer than it already was which was hardly above freezing temperatures. He wasn't particularly interested in pushing Draco into his family's arms though, maybe due to some selfish reasons of his own, but more so because he knew that Draco blamed his own love for his family in a way that he'd never be able to overlook. He still thought of his love for them as a weakness, still believed that if he hadn't loved his family so much he could have simply ran away from Voldemort's clutches. He didn't blame them per se; he blamed himself for being attached to them. And as long as he had that mindset, it would be impossible for him to get past the walls he'd built around them.

Harry knew better, though. He believed that even if Draco hadn't had his family to worry about, he would have had more dignity than to take the coward's way of escape. He thought the whole business too complicated and too damaged to fix in a moment of confession and a few apologies, but knew it had to be resolved eventually. After all, if Draco and he were to stay together, which was looking more probable by the day, he knew that he would want Draco to love him without seeing it as a weakness or a disadvantage. Maybe it was just him being sentimental, but he thought that love should mean more than that. His love for Draco, new and strange as it was, made his whole body burn with a longing he barely comprehended.

He couldn't even really acknowledge the feeling, which was why he wasn't very persistent on Draco facing his own feelings and challenging his perception on love. Any time the thought so much as threatened to form, he would shut it down absolutely and do anything to ignore the feelings bubbling in his chest. Maybe it was that he doubted he could distinguish the feelings of physical attraction and love, or that he thought it was too soon to be having such feelings when Draco hadn't even hinted at them being in a long-term relationship, but he felt very reluctant to bring up the subject or even allow himself time to ponder over what he wanted.

The more he ignored the thoughts however, the stronger their roots seemed to grow in his mind; the more they seemed to haunt his dreams. For someone who didn't remember ever being in a relationship, he felt awfully desperate to be in a serious one and that really scared him. Was it _because _he didn't remember his previous experiences that he was so ready to jump head-first into a permanent thing with Draco? Was he even right to be worrying about it so much or was it simply something that worked itself out? What if Draco suddenly decided that he didn't want to be with Harry after all and left without a second glance?

Harry bit his lip and put down his fork, leaning back in his chair at the massive dinner table. No one was really talking, there were no distractions to end his disturbing thoughts now. He was face to face with them, no way to ignore and dismiss them; no way to stare them down. Worst of it was remembering that he was the reluctant one. He was the one that hadn't wanted a relationship, the one who hadn't been ready. And now he was tired of taking it slow, tired of feeling hesitant. He wanted to be sure of his commitment. Wanted to know that Draco wanted him as much as said he did, wanted to know that he was willing to stick with Harry through thick and thin.

Now that he was allowing himself the possibility of having someone to lean on, someone to have by his side through this uncertain phase of his life, he couldn't think of wanting anything more than it. He wanted Draco to lean on him too, an equal footing. His nightmares had retreated ever since he'd started sleeping cuddled together with Draco, and his previous feelings of alienation and living a life that wasn't his own had also vanished, leaving him feeling lighter and giving his life a more substantial sense, making each moment that much more important. Now, he felt as if his life had been given a direction and a purpose. He didn't feel as empty. More than that, he didn't feel the need to be empty. Being happy felt much more satisfying than holding his emptiness and treasuring its dark void. He knew that Draco had had a dark past and it might have been just a little ironic that he was the one who had brought light to Harry's life if the golden aura hadn't always covered his body, convincing Harry of the light that Draco unconsciously brought to everyone's life.

Harry wasn't sure what colour his own aura was, if he even had one, but was sure that it would have been some bleak colour, at least until he gave in to Draco and worked at turning his life around. He visited places outside the Manor on a daily basis now, be it restaurants, bars, or shopping malls, or even visiting Draco's friends. He didn't feel trapped or as if he was constantly suffocating under the pressure of the shadow of his legendary past anymore. He finally appreciated the new start that he'd been given. He finally had accepted that his past life was out of reach and the small breaches that brought him glimpses of his old memories didn't freak him out as much. He stored them somewhere at the back of his mind. They were always treasured, always brought back some sense of himself, but he knew that even if they stopped coming, he'd be able to survive without them.

He was now building new memories, not to replace the old ones, but to compliment them, to build up on them and bring new aspects to his life. He sometimes imagined having a conversation with his old self, wondered what new additions to his life would have seemed impossible to the old Harry. He'd try to figure out why they had seemed so impossible to the old him, like an interesting game at the dead of night when Draco was already asleep but he was still caught in the clutches of consciousness, going over his old memories and comparing them with his new ones. Mostly, he thought about why he'd never been able to accept Draco as a friend.

Sometimes he had a nightmare in which he was the old him. He would forget all of his new memories, all the new and good sides of Draco that he'd come to know, and they would be fighting about something or other. He'd see the rejection in Draco's eyes when he would realise that Harry couldn't remember their new relationship, or even their friendship. He'd see those grey eyes growing cold and hard and walling him off, throwing back insults to distance him from him. It would cut his heart out and clutch it hard until it crushed into fine powder when he woke up, because while seeing it in the dream, he'd feel nothing. He wouldn't feel the real fear behind the actuality of this horrible scenario happening, wouldn't feel the desperation for Draco to never shut him out, wouldn't hear the screams twisting his throat to beg Draco to remind him of their love, to not give up on him while still in the nightmare. He'd wake up in cold sweat, holding onto the sleeping and solid body of Draco harder than ever, listening to his breathing and crying unintentionally.

Other times, he would dream himself splitting into two people, the past him and the present him, arguing over whose existence was real and more important. He would always lose, and the past him would take over, taking him back to his old life. He'd never fall into a coma and he'd live a different life; a life without Draco in it.

He never discussed these fears, and maybe that fuelled them even more, but he couldn't bring himself to speak of them. Saying them out loud made them real; gave them a ground to stand on, turned them into a real possibility. It was irrational; they were unfounded worries.

They were real to him nonetheless.

He looked up at Draco with uncertainty, letting his mouth fall open. Draco smiled at him reassuringly. No words came out. He closed his mouth and offered a smile that he suspected didn't look much of a smile but hoped would be good enough. He felt sick and exhausted. He was now regretting all the food he'd consumed.

"You okay?" Whispered a concerned Draco from the seat besides Harry. "You look a bit green."

"I feel a little light-headed," murmured Harry. "Excuse me," he announced louder to the whole table. "Thank you for the delicious meal and the celebration." Narcissa smiled and nodded at him and Harry felt his head clear a little. "I had a really great day today, but I'm afraid I ate too much. I should go lie down. Good night."

"I hope you feel better in the morning, Harry," replied Narcissa. Harry smiled back at her, genuinely this time. It meant a lot to him that she always had his back, even when she felt lost in her own house, placed in a situation she had avoided for years.

Snape looked sharply at Harry, trying to see if he was feeling sick enough to need his help with a potion, but Harry shook his head slightly. He felt okay enough. He only needed some sleep to calm him down; his nerves felt fried. It had certainly been a long day of running around getting all the last minute decorations done and making sure everything was prepared perfectly. Lucius raised his empty glass of eggnog towards Harry as a means of goodbye and Draco mouthed that he'd catch up with Harry soon and with that, Harry left his seat and the table behind him.

His legs took him to his own bedroom, a place he hadn't felt the need to visit ever since he'd basically moved to Draco's room without them ever really discussing it. It was still his bedroom; all of his clothes were still here. It simply seemed that he was living in Draco's room now that he spent his nights there. If they weren't in bed or in the shower there, they were in the study or out in the gardens.

He wasn't sure why he was here now. He needed some space to himself, he supposed. He needed to gather his thoughts and decide what he wanted to do with himself. Living like this was torture. He had to either decide to ask Draco for a definition of their relationship, or to simply let it go and not visit the thought again. Being in this in between place was tearing him apart.

It wasn't until he sat on the bed that he realised the package that was set in the middle. It was a fairly big box, wrapped up in green paper with a huge red bow on top of it. A simple card attached to it read: _To my dearest Harry._

He took off the ribbon, his curiosity piqued, and tore through the packaging. Only after he tore it off did he feel bad about not being more delicate with it. He lifted the lid of the box, peeking cautiously inside. He immediately snapped back his head as a spherical object flew out of the box, its close proximity slightly raising his hair and possibly making it even messier. It floated in the air next to Harry, softly moving up and down an inch or so, as if it were breathing. Several more followed its wake, all shaped in the same way. Soon, enough were out of the box that they were filling his bedroom, which was quite a large space to fill. Harry was wondering how so many spheres had been able to fit in a single box when it finally seemed to end. The dark spheres floated around in his bedroom with a few feet between them, some going up to the ceiling and some as low as his knees.

There was one right in front of him. He slowly placed his hand above it, wondering whether or not it would harm him if he touched it. His heart was beating wildly. He licked his lips and touched a finger to the top of the dark sphere. A wide smile appeared on his face as a soft glow started to emanate from the sphere he had touched, soon spreading through all the spheres. In a few seconds, they were all alight with a warm yellow light, soft enough that they wouldn't disturb his sleep, but light enough to chase away his nightmares. He tapped the closer sphere to him and gently nudged it over to himself. It was strangely soft. He held it in between his arms. It was just big enough that he could reach his arms all around it and hold onto his own hand. Holding onto it like this, he became even more aware of how soft and impressionable it was. He was soon shaping it into a roll, making it flat, twisting it around himself, using it as a pillow, and even trying to sit on it to see if it would lift him in the air and help him float around.

"I don't think it's strong enough to hold under your weight," said a playful voice.

Harry turned around and grinned at Draco, all his worries forgotten. "This is great. Come see how soft it is!"

"So I take it you love your fairy lights, then," laughed Draco as he came over and held onto a new sphere of light. He sat on the bed, a few inches away from Harry, and started reshaping his own sphere.

Harry nodded enthusiastically and let go of the fairy light he had been abusing, letting it float back into the air. Slowly it turned back into a sphere and started drifting further away, probably escaping Harry's cruel hands. Harry started laughing and leaned back on the bed, gazing up towards the many fairy lights floating above him. It was amazing. A great love exploded inside him. Draco had gotten him these for Christmas. He wouldn't have wanted anything else. They were perfect.

A silence fell over them as Draco let his own sphere go and lied back beside Harry.

"You knew," murmured Harry after he finally took in the whole meaning of the fairy lights. "about the nightmares."

"I knew," replied Draco softly, intertwining his fingers with Harry's and still looking up at the fairy lights. "Of course I knew."

"Oh, Draco," sighed Harry, turning onto his side and pressing his head against the hollow in Draco's neck.

"You shouldn't be so afraid of talking to me, Harry," whined Draco. "What's the worst that could have happened? I'm not the monster you paint me to be."

"I don't think of you like that!" exclaimed Harry. Draco looked at him grudgingly from the corner of his eyes. "I don't," grumbled Harry.

_I'm just insecure,_ he thought.

_I know,_ replied Draco. _It's partly my own fault._

"No, it's not." Said Harry sadly. "I can't help it. But I'll work on it. Promise."

"No, you won't," said Draco soberly. "_We _will work on it. Together."

Harry tried to fight off the smile but failed. He knew his nightmares had been overbearing and he should have talked to Draco about it sooner, but he really had been afraid of Draco making fun of him or not sharing his feelings. He felt silly now. It could have been so easy to see that Draco did feel the same way, to see that Draco had trouble speaking his feelings too.

"We're both cowards, huh?" He said jokingly.

"Yup," sighed Draco. "Fools in love."

Harry didn't even try fighting the smile this time. All he could think of was _love love love. _He was in love; there was no denying it now. It still scared him, and he still thought Draco had to get over his fear of love and attachment, but just knowing that Draco was in love with him made all of that less important. It took the spotlight from all the problems and instead lit the both of them. Surely, if they loved each other, they could work everything else out together. After all, they were under a barrier that set them apart from the rest of the world. They could spend their whole life in this very room if they wished it so. What could get in their way?

He lifted himself onto his elbows and leaned over Draco, looking into his warm grey eyes. They were filled with admiration and joy. They were filled with a love for him so strong that they seemed to reach deep into Harry and hold his heart in both hands, making it beat ever faster. Harry ducked down and placed his lips over Draco's soft ones, answering to the hunger inside him. The fairy lights hovered over them, bathing them in the warm glow of their newly confessed love.


	23. Unexpected

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**Unexpected**

Harry brushed back Draco's hair. He'd been steadily falling more and more in love with him. He followed Draco everywhere and back, as if he had made it a mission of his not to let even a paper slip between them. It was starting to scare him how much he depended on Draco now, and how much Draco depended on him, but he was obliviously happy by ignoring it. Nothing would ever happen. They'd be together forever.

His hand continued down Draco's soft skin and gently stroked his neck. All he wanted to do was to reach down and lick that spot. Lately, all he'd wanted to do was to get closer and closer to Draco. Holding hands wasn't good enough. He still got goose bumps every time their skins touched, so holding hands was still as phenomenal as ever, but his very existence yearned for more.

Draco smelled intoxicating. Harry wanted to drink it all in, all the time. Whenever they would meet each other after having spent some time apart, Harry couldn't help but take long gulps of breath, breathing in that enchanting scent. He didn't think he could take it anymore. He wanted to have their lips pressed together, to have their bodies molded against each other, to have Draco's eyes drunk with emotions and settled on him.

It shouldn't have been hard to convey his desires to Draco, but it was. It was more than hard. He couldn't speak of them, couldn't think them to Draco, and he definitely couldn't show him. He was scared of how he was feeling. He didn't feel ready.

But his body ached to be closer.

He took a deep breath, lifted his hand off of Draco's body and rolled around to his other side on the bed. The fact that Draco didn't seem the least bit interested in doing anything to him anymore did nothing to encourage him either. He used to send Harry the most uncomfortable sexual positions and sounds. Making Harry go crimson at the dinner table was once his favourite hobby. Now, Draco seemed to be the virgin in the relationship. He seemed happy enough when Harry leaned on his shoulder or initiated physical contact of any other sort, but didn't seem inclined to start them himself or encourage Harry to continue what he was doing.

Harry wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but deep down it was worrying him. What if Draco was pulling away? What if he was bored with Harry?

Harry sucked in a ragged breath and tried to push the worrying thoughts away. He slowly and carefully rolled himself off the bed and went to stand in front of the mirror. He wasn't that bad looking was he? He pushed the messy fringe out of his eyes and stared at his big strange emerald eyes. Sometimes he'd look into them and see a stranger looking back. He didn't remember a lifetime of looking in the mirror and seeing those eyes staring back at him. How could he be sure they were his? He could only see him in his reflection. Maybe his eyes were actually purple but got reflected green.

He bit his lip to keep the hysterical laughter from escaping. He was running away with his wild thoughts. Of course his eyes were green. They always had been, and they were definitely his own eyes staring back at him.

He tried to suck in his cheeks and push them back with his hands. He bit on the inside of his lips to see what they would look like if they were smaller. The blood rushing to his lips turned them bright red and he smiled to himself. The combination of his striking green eyes and ruby lips weren't too bad. Maybe he'd bite down on his lips more often.

He tried to move his stomach fat somewhere else to see what he would look like thinner. He sucked in his breath and turned around to watch from the side. He looked at his weird feet and wriggled his toes.

He sighed deeply and let his hands hang limply by his side. He looked at himself sideways and the sadness in his eyes was almost tangible. No matter how long he stayed here wondering, he wouldn't be able to change any of his features. At the end of the day, he was stuck with the same weird feet and messy hair and strange eyes. He shook his head and smiled at his reflection. He was okay with the way he looked. He wouldn't really change anything.

But what if Draco thought something was wrong with him? What had made him suddenly pull away from Harry? Why was this so hard? He just wanted to love Draco and wanted it to be enough. But there were so many other things, other factors that decided the course of their relationship for them.

He slipped back under the covers and gingerly took hold of Draco's hand. Draco's fingers lazily wrapped themselves around his and he mumbled something incoherently. Harry blew softly onto Draco's soft blonde hair and watched his expression get scrunched up. He choked because he couldn't stop the laughter completely, and Draco opened his eyes lazily. He let out a grunt and shut his eyes tightly once more, nestling himself deeper into the tangle of his sheets. Harry giggled silently and blew on Draco's soft hair once more, somewhat more persistent.

"Stop," grumbled Draco sleepily with one eye open. "Please stop."

Harry stretched out Draco's fingers playfully and smiled innocently at him. Draco opened his other eye and frowned at him wholeheartedly.

"What?" He inquired moodily. "What was so bloody important that you had to wake me up?"

"I didn't do anything," smiled Harry angelically. "There must be a draft in here."

Draco looked at Harry with a blank expression, not amused. Harry's smile died on his lips and Draco's eyes somewhat softened. They stayed like that for a long while until Harry leaned closer and placed his lips on Draco's. Draco let out a soft noise and pulled Harry's body closer to him, kissing Harry back.

A fire started burning inside of Harry that was threatening to burn everything inside of and around him. Draco wanted him. It wasn't a one-way desire.

He burned everywhere he touched Draco, but he couldn't seem to touch the right places. His hands kept roaming, trying to find something to settle on. As soon as they settled, however, they would start roaming again. He couldn't stay still. The passion burning inside him was too much to contain. He wanted to show Draco how much he actually wanted him. Why had he doubted his ability to show Draco his desires? This was better than anything he'd ever felt before. It was somewhere deep inside him, a buried instinct. He knew what to do, how to move, how to make Draco moan, and he loved it.

"How…?" Draco broke the kiss of, panting heavily. "So. Good."

Harry groaned and captured Draco's lips once more, climbing over his body and straddling him. He wasn't sure where this was coming from, hadn't even known he'd had it in him. The only thing that he did know was that he had waited for so long and contained his emotions and left Draco alone as long as he could and now all he wanted was to do unspeakable things to him.

Clearly reading his intentions, Draco moaned again, pushing Harry down hard and turning to be on top. Harry was too off-guard to resist and by the time he knew what had happened, Draco's mouth was hooked onto his neck and there was a knee pressing in between his legs.

"No," said Harry breathily.

Draco ignored him and did a sucking motion with his mouth that had Harry gasping. For a moment, just a moment, Harry's control over his wandless magic slipped. Blue sparks flew off his fingertips, and being in contact with Draco's skin, they sank into it. Harry looked at Draco, horrified, and Draco who had curiously lifted his head to see what was going on, closed his eyes, his expression unreadable. A soft tremor went through his whole body and a whimper escaped him. Harry held onto to his shoulders and, afraid of shaking him, called out his name.

Draco opened his eyes as if remembering his surroundings and Harry saw pleasure swimming in his eyes. His pupils were dilated and his mouth was slightly open. He was breathing heavily and looking at Harry as if he was his whole world. Harry swallowed hard and continued gazing into Draco's lust-filled eyes. He couldn't stop. Not now.

But he had to. This didn't feel right. "Sorry. I'm not ready yet," he whispered, detaching himself from Draco and rolling away.

Draco looked at him mutely and nodded in understanding, the lust in his eyes disappearing slowly but surely. "I know. It's whatever that happened at the club, isn't it?"

Harry nodded his head, looking away with shame bright in his eyes. Draco had found the steel box in the dark corner of his mind a long time ago, but hadn't pushed to open it before this. He stood over it now, gently nudging Harry to let him see, all the while murmuring that it was going to be alright.

Against his better judgment, Harry let himself believe that. He slowly disintegrated the steel box, letting the memories flow freely for both him and Draco's viewing pleasure. He gasped at the remembrance of what a truly foul night it had been, and watched miserably as Draco grew paler by the second. By the time the memory was replaying the part when the stranger had started to undress Harry, Draco started to growl audibly, turning various shades of red. Harry stayed silent and tried to keep himself indifferent until the memory was finished replaying itself in his head, and then rolled away from Draco, closing his eyes in pain. He hadn't felt this cold or empty in a long time.

"I will kill him," Draco promised. His tone was so cold and determined that Harry had trouble recognizing it as Draco's voice. He let a small smile grace his lips and hummed, trying to empty his mind of all emotion so that he could fall asleep and distance himself from what had taken place.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco murmured, reaching out a tentative hand to touch Harry's shoulder. Harry tensed for a moment and then hummed again, relaxing once more. "I should have been there to protect you."

"It's over now," Harry replied stoically. "There's no point in blaming yourself."

He leaned back into Draco's touch nonetheless, feeling some of the coldness slip away from him. Draco, being able to feel the extent of the emptiness that the memory had carved in Harry, moved closer and was relieved when Harry leaned further back and allowed Draco to hold him.

"Thank you for telling me," Draco whispered, barely audibly. Harry frowned, thinking that Draco was being ridiculous and hummed a third time, slowly falling asleep. Draco simply held him throughout the night, not being able to fall asleep himself. It was in the early hours of the morning, the sun finally pouring some warmth into the cold room, when Draco finally allowed his eyes to flutter shut, having scolded himself hard enough the entire night, weaving his hand through Harry's hair to make sure that he really was here and really was okay, and wondering how he could have been such an idiot to have let this happen, and immensely grateful that Harry didn't hold it against him.

xXx

Harry twisted his arms around Draco's lean body and spun him around. Draco looked at him in surprise for a moment before Harry had him flat on his back and was straddling him. He trailed his hands down Draco's bare chest and teased his nipple between two of his fingers. Draco tried to push Harry off or roll from beneath him, but Harry wouldn't have it. He had to get past this barrier that Draco had put between them. It was now or never. He put Draco's arms up over his head and pushed them down against the bed. Deciding to cheat to make Draco stop resisting, he intentionally let some of his magic seep into Draco's skin. Soon, Draco was trying not to moan and his erection was pressed up against Harry. Harry knew he had him and it was over, and a luminous smile lit up his face.

Harry gasped, and heard Draco gasp beside him, and they both hastily sat up in bed, jerked to awareness from their sleep suddenly. They turned to look at each other, eyes locked onto matching lust-filled eyes. Harry gulped. They'd never shared a dream before. And he'd definitely never had a dream like _that _before. He was unsure of how to react now. He'd clearly wanted to dominate Draco in that dream, and had succeeded too, and by the look on Draco's face, he had rather enjoyed it.

"My magic's getting out of control," he muttered, before escaping the bed and running to the bathroom. A cold shower was in order.


	24. The Edge

**A/N: **I realise how late this update is. All I can say is that I lost the person who inspired my Draco character and it took me a long time to find inspiration in another place. I read back through all my chapters and to be honest there were a lot of inconsistencies. It happened because I was too late in writing each new chapter and didn't really read back more than a chapter or so before writing the new one so naturally things got away from me. So before writing this chapter, I read back the whole thing and changed the inconsistencies and some parts that I didn't like. If you haven't the interest to read back every chapter, then that's alright because I haven't changed anything important to the plot, just emotions and build-ups that hadn't happened in the story and only in my head so they didn't quite add up. But I strongly advise you to re-read the previous chapter, because I did change some parts vital to the plot. I apologize for any inconvenience caused and how late this update is.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**The Edge**

"I think it's time you saw something, Harry," declared Lucius.

Harry looked up from the book he'd lost himself in. They were in the large study and Harry found it to be in his interest to go with Lucius without complaint. As luck was on his side for now, Lucius hadn't yet commented on the books that Harry had lain over each other in piles haphazardly, and it seemed better to humour the man rather than raise his anger. He stood to cover the pile with his body and slowly set his magic to move the books back into their proper places, holding Lucius' eyes the whole time in hopes of keeping him from noticing anything to be amiss.

Lucius looked at him with barely-concealed amusement dripping from his very core. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, as if to ask if this was the best he could do. Harry shrugged and followed the man out. Let it not be said that he hadn't tried.

"Where's Draco?" Lucius asked as they made their way through the long hallways of the Manor that had become so familiar to Harry. He could even go so far as to say that by now he could find his way around with his eyes closed. It wasn't his keen sense of mapping his surroundings much as it was his fear of getting lost in the endless hallways that had pushed him to memorize the different colour schemes and portraits that graced each part of the Manor. Also, the unique objects or rooms that had looked the same to him just a while ago were now so distinct that with a glance they could tell him where he was and in which direction he was headed.

Presently, he could tell that Lucius was directing him to the main dining hall. As it was past lunch and too early for tea, he couldn't fathom the reasoning and kept a cautious distance from Lucius. It was true that they had come to a silent understanding, but he could still recall the first time he had laid eyes on the man and seen the cold smirk that had promised nothing but the pleasure to be taken in causing Harry much pain. All of these unsettling thoughts left him, however, at the mention of Draco.

He bit his lower lip, letting his eyes dart around in search of the golden smoke of the aura that had lately been dead set on following him everywhere. He sighed in relief when he couldn't place it anywhere, and blushed when he remembered the cause for all of this hide-and-seek. All of his dreams had been plagued with sexual activities lately, _Romance stuff,_ he grumbled, and Draco had shared every single one of them with him. They'd done every possible thing in them. Harry gritted his teeth. Even the dreamless sleep potion that he'd finally begged off of Snape hadn't helped with anything. The visions had simply haunted Draco and Harry during the day instead, playing out in front of their eyes in blue and golden hues. Harry would take the dreams over that embarrassment any time, thank you very much. He'd been mortified, pasting marmalade on his toast at the breakfast table and pretending to listen to Narcissa's chatter and looking anywhere but at Draco, as a scene that was only visible to the two of them played out in the middle of the dining table. The sounds had been loud enough that he couldn't stop being aroused, and Narcissa had given him strange looks when he'd simply nodded to her question of whether or not he agreed that the spheres of protection should simply be lifted and the criminals allowed back into modern society.

_No_, he told himself determinedly. _I'm not going to think about the dreams anymore_. What made the situation ten times worse was the fact that he was alone in his mortification. Draco could feel nothing but amusement and what he called a "healthy interest" for the dreams. Harry had all but cut off their mental link, saying that this was all somehow Draco's fault, storming out of their room at every turn, avoiding Draco left and right.

It was true that this had more than taken his mind off of the memory he'd shared with Draco from the steel box in his head and the depression it had renewed in him, and so he hadn't really meant any of his threats to cut off Draco's head if he continued to smile so broadly about Harry's turning different shades of red, which had in turn only encouraged Draco to smile at him with more amusement.

"Harry?" Lucius prompted, turning back to glance at Harry. "Is everything alright between the two of you?"

"Y-yes," stuttered Harry, not knowing what to do with a concerned Lucius. "Everything is much better, thank you."

And it was true. Draco had gone back to teasing Harry with inappropriate images at all hours of the day, most of them inspired from the dreams, having the nerve to openly laugh when Harry sent death glares and daggers through the link.

Lucius nodded, evidently just as uncomfortable with showing concern as Harry was with being at the receiving end of it, and cleared his throat. "The reason I asked you to follow me is that I think you're finally ready to help us, Harry."

"Help you, Lucius?" Asked an intrigued Harry. "Help you with what, exactly?"

"Getting free, of course," replied Lucius so nonchalantly that Harry wondered if they had been discussing this over tea for some time now and he had simply forgotten about it. "You being the saviour and all."

Harry glared at Lucius' back, hearing the smirk in his voice. He didn't remember agreeing to this. Feeling the hostility pointed at his back, Lucius turned around for a moment to look Harry in the eyes. His eyes were bright with hope, no smirk in place, and Harry knew that he couldn't say no to at least seeing what Lucius was suggesting.

Lucius nodded, and turned back satisfied, leading the way to the main entrance of the Manor.

_Is everything alright, love? _AskedDraco through the bond. Harry jumped slightly, looked around suspiciously for a trace of the golden aura, and yet again came up empty-handed.

_Just peachy, _replied Harry, still mentally giving Draco the finger over their earlier game of let's-embarrass-Harry.

_Aw, don't be like that, _said Draco cheerfully. Seeing through Harry's eyes that he was alone with Lucius near the entrance hall, he sobered up quickly. _Harry? What's going on?_

_I honestly have no clue,_ replied Harry just as soberly. He had a bad feeling about this, but wasn't sure why. Nothing seemed out of place and yet the nagging feeling was eating him up. Once again he looked at Lucius' back, his eyes unfocused as he paid attention to the voice in his head.

_I'll be there in ten minutes,_ replied Draco hurriedly, his voice filled with worry. _Lucius never leaves the Manor._

Harry swallowed forcefully. He watched as Lucius turned on his heels near the fireplace and brought something out of his pocket and offered it to Harry.

"Before we do this, Harry," he said cautiously, "I want you to take every precaution possible. Here's a wand that should work for now."

Harry cautiously reached over and took the thin piece of wood from Lucius. His memory, now more than halfway restored, told him that some sparks should be shooting off the wand, or that he should at least feel some warmth or a bond forming with the wand. He stood there with a frown as no such thing happened.

Lucius looked at him intently, nodded to Harry, and whispered, "That's your wand Harry. It's not recognizing you because it already knows you."

"My wand?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "You had my wand all along?"

Lucius nodded again, reached onto the mantelpiece for some floo powder, threw the green powder into the fire and said, "The Edge," loudly and clearly.

Harry couldn't help but cringe at the ominous tone. He repeated Lucius' movements, mumbled 'The Edge,' and stepped in after him, dismissing Draco's cries to wait for him.

The other side of the floo network ended up to be a field. The ruined remains of a house were all around them, the fireplace one of the few things still in place. All the walls were almost completely gone, only serving as markers for were previous rooms and doors used to be. Harry's eyes rolled over the remains of the house but didn't give them much thought, more occupied with what he was hearing in the distance. As he looked up and made sense of what he was seeing and tried to match it with the buzzing sound, he gasped and tried to step back. The flames licked the back of his shoes and he would have stumbled if Lucius hadn't reached out to steady him. He had his eyes trained on the same spot as Harry.

"Welcome to the Edge Harry," he said quietly.

Harry didn't hear him. He was too busy staring at the wizards who had their wands out, some spell or other shooting from it towards the wall of the energy that constituted the protective sphere. They were frozen in place by some current that was running from the sphere of energy and through their wands and their expressions were twisted in pain, strangled screams echoing back and forth.

What kept Harry's eyes glued to the sight was the amount of people trapped in this state. There were hundreds of them, stuck in the painful position, the current running through them for an eternity. They should have been dead, but the sphere was healing them as much as it was damaging them. Caught in a state of cancellation and start, they were forever stuck in a world of pain.

Harry snapped to attention as a pair of feet shuffled not too far from him. He watched a middle aged witch approach the sphere determinedly. She could obviously see the fate of those who came before her, but she was nonplussed by it. She pushed back the long sleeves of her robe and sent a hex towards the sphere. A vicious-looking orange spell hissed towards the sphere and Harry could see the hope burn in the witch's bright eyes. The next moment though, the spell had hit the sphere with no effect, and it seemed to become a rope connecting the witch's wand to the sphere. A buzzing current swirled around the orange hex and descended towards the witch. It soon encompassed them and the witch's fresh screams rang through the field.

Lucius gently squeezed Harry's hand and made him realize his mouth had been open the whole time. He closed it audibly, turning wide eyes to Lucius.

"Why?" He croaked hoarsely.

"They hope that with enough spells they might create a crack in the sphere," explained Lucius slowly. Harry tried to hear and analyze every word. It was hard to concentrate on his words instead of just falling to the ground and screaming at the unfairness of the situation. "Help us Harry. Help us and save them from eternal pain. Once they're stuck like this, not even the Aurors can get them out."

Harry, who was looking at the scene in front of him once more, turned back to look at Lucius with horror. Silently, he nodded.


	25. The End

**A/N: **Last chapter. Thanks to all those who stuck with me throughout.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**The End**

Harry gulped, pasted his feet off the ground, and took slow steps towards the sphere. The closer he got, the louder the echo of the screams became, and the more his stomach churned. Fear was eating him from the inside out. Could he do this? What made him more powerful than all these wizards and witches combined? What if his magic wasn't enough to break the sphere and he'd be stuck in there as well?

He would never see Draco again.

His already slow progress towards the sphere halted. His hands shook with the need to help these people and his heart raced with the fear of failure. Was it worth trying? Was his life worth a bunch of criminals'?

Lucius walked up behind him, sensing his hesitation. "You promised, Harry."

"I don't think I can do this," Harry croaked. "I don't think I'm strong enough. I'm not the Harry you knew in the past. I'm no golden boy; I'm no hero."

"Don't be absurd," Lucius scoffed. "I can see you trembling with the need to help end this suffering."

"Maybe I would have, in the past," Harry said stubbornly. "Because back then I probably didn't have much to lose. But now I have Draco, and this isn't fair to him. You can't ask me to do this. I'm sorry."

"So eager to ask Draco for permission, are we?" A pitchy voice came from behind Harry. Something in that voice made Harry turn in a swift move. His eyes found Draco and his heart fell a thousand feet beneath him. With wide eyes he took half a step towards Bellatrix and reached for Draco who was held hostage in her vicious arms.

"Harry!" Draco Squeaked, eyes as wide as Harry's. He was wandless and almost choking in Bellatrix's stern grip.

"What do you want with him?" Harry shouted at Bellatrix. "Let him go! He's done you no harm!"

"Harry, just do as we say and no harm will come to Draco," Lucius spoke up, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You!" Harry turned half back to Lucius. "You planned this? You kept my wand, waited until Draco became important to me, and then brought me here to force me into surrendering my life?"

"Hardly," Lucius laughed. "Everything just worked out for the best. I'd say it was fate, wouldn't you?"

"You would hurt your own son for this?" Harry asked incredulously. "What kind of a father would do that?"

"Draco's not hurting," Bellatrix cooed. "He's having the best time of his life, aren't you Draco-Waco?"

"Blast them all to hell, Harry," Draco grumbled with some difficulty.

"Come now," Lucius squeezed Harry's shoulder. "I'm doing this with Draco in mind. Do you want him to live under the barrier for the rest of his life? He deserves better than that, don't you agree?"

"And if I fail?" Harry shot back at Lucius. "If I try to lift the barrier and I get stuck? What will happen to Draco then? His heart will be broken, and he will never forgive you."

Upon hearing that, Draco struggled harder in Bellatrix's grasp. "Is that what you mean for him to do? Are you condemning him to the fate of all these others who tried to break the sphere before him, Father? Do you hate me so much that you must crumble anything good that ever enters my life?"

Lucius' expression turned sour and his eyes grew even colder. "Enough. He will not fail. If he cares for you as he says he does, then that's all the motivation he needs to break through the sphere."

Before Harry could raise his wand towards Lucius, he felt a wand being pressed against his back. "Don't you even think about it. The slightest move and Bellatrix will _crucio _Draco."

"So?" Draco retorted. "I'll heal. No permanent damage can be done to me while the barrier holds."

"But I have a much better idea!" Bellatrix giggled. "Why don't I hold your hand over my wand and say a teeny tiny spell? And I'll aim it towards the barrier, and get Draco-Waco trapped forever."

"No, stop!" Harry shouted. "I'll do it! Don't harm him."

"I knew you'd choose the right path in the end, Harry," Lucius smirked. "Come on now."

_Don't do it Harry, _Draco begged. _Please, please don't do it. I was a shell of a person before you came and lit up my world. I can't continue on without you._

His eyes stinging, Harry turned away from Draco. _I'm sorry Draco, I have to do this._

"If you do it and fail, I'll grab a wand and follow you!" Draco threatened. "I swear to everything I hold dear Potter, I'll shoot a spell at the barrier, so there's no point in you doing this!"

"You will do no such thing," Lucius growled.

Harry turned back towards Draco, his eyes sad. Draco stopped struggling in Bellatrix's arms. He'd never seen Harry's eyes look like that. They looked as if they'd seen a thousand years, but that couldn't be, what with Harry's limited memories and all. How could someone look so sad and ancient?

"What are you doing?" Draco whispered, every inch of his body gone cold. He couldn't decipher that look, that look of complete loss and pain. "What are you planning, Harry? Talk to me!"

Harry raised his wand, and this time Lucius didn't stop him. Neither did Bellatrix. They were both caught in the blue swirl of Harry's wandless magic that was independently freezing the world around Draco and him.

"Stop it, Harry," Draco pleaded. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but I don't like this. Stop it! You've already frozen Lucius and Bellatrix; we can get out of here!"

"It will never be over until I raise this barrier," Harry said in a monotone. "Can't you see how it will never be over Draco?"

"Harry, what are you talking about? Don't point your wand at me; I'm on your side."

"That's the problem," Harry sighed. "I have to try to raise the barrier. This is so much bigger than me Draco, Lucius is right. I have to at least try to end everyone's suffering. I can't sit by knowing that I might be able to end all of this. That's not who I am. I was being selfish before, wanting to stay with you in this perfect bubble where nothing ever changes and we can be happy together. But this bubble isn't so perfect after all. These people are suffering, caught by the sphere. I have to raise the barrier, I have to make the ministry pay for this, I have to make sure that everyone gets a fair trial and justice."

"They chose to be stuck! They chose to attack the barrier, they knew the consequences!" Draco said desperately. "No one is forcing you to do this Harry! Please, don't do it! Stay with me, Harry."

Harry felt a tear break free.

_I'll always be with you, Draco._

He reached for Draco's mind through their mental bond, digging deeper than he ever had. He found every memory ever associated with him. Found them and gathered them all in one place. It took a while, Draco had so many thoughts directly and indirectly about Harry, and more memories than them all, and Harry had to track every single one of them. He couldn't miss any.

With an exhaling breath, in one swift movement, he cut all those memories in half. If anyone knew what a crime it was to tear someone's memories to shreds, it was him, but there was no other way. Draco had to forget that he loved Harry. He had to forget that he even knew Harry. If Harry tried to raise the barrier and failed, which was the most likely outcome, what would happen to Draco? No, he couldn't hurt him this way.

This was the only way.

More tears rolled down his face as he watched Draco's eyes grow from desperate to cold as more and more of his memories of Harry were extracted from his mind and blasted to oblivion. He was alone now. Completely. He had nothing to lose, no one to lose. This was it. As the last memory was obliterated, he turned back towards the sphere; ignoring Draco's confused 'where am I?'

He raised his wand once more, this time pointed at the barrier. He was oddly detached and empty. Either way, he didn't care. If he lifted the barrier or not, there was no going back to Draco. A shining blue needle sped from his wand towards the barrier. The blinding light from the collision made his vision go so white it was almost black, and then he knew no more.


End file.
